CiHM 

Microfiche 

Series 

(IMonographs) 


ICIMH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographies) 


OaiMdian  Institut.  for  Historical  iMicroroproductiont  /  Institut  canadion  da  microraproduetiona  hittoriquaa 


1 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  techniques  et  bibliographlques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best  original 
copy  available  for  filnf)lng.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibllogiaphlcally  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  Images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 


r7|  ColourBd  covers  / 


D 
D 


D 
D 
D 
D 

n 


D 


Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged  / 
Couverture  endommag^ 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Couverture  restaur^  et/ou  pellicula 

Cover  title  missing  /  Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps  /  Cartes  gtegraphiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

Cokiured  plates  and/or  Illustrations  / 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material  / 
Relid  avec  d'autres  documents 

Only  edition  available  / 
Seule  Edition  disponlble 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion  along 
interior  margin  /  La  reliure  sen-^e  peut  causer  de 
I'ombre  ou  de  la  distorslon  le  long  de  la  marge 
int^rieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restorattons  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have  been 
omitted  from  filming  /  II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages 
blanches  ajoutdes  lors  d'une  restauratlon 
apparaissent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  iorsque  cela  6taH 
possible,  ces  pages  n'ont  pas  6X6  fiimdes. 

Additkinal  comments  / 
Commentaires  suppl^mentaires: 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilieur  exemplaire  qu'ii  lui  a 
6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire qui  sont  peut-dtre  unk)ues  du  point  de  vue  bibil- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  nfKxIifler  une  Image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modifteatlon  dans  la  metho- 
ds nonmale  de  fllmage  sont  Indk)u6s  ci-dessous. 

I     I  Cotoured  pages/ Pages  de  couleur 
I I  Pages  damaged  /  Pages  endommagtes 

□   Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Pages  restaurtes  et/ou  pellicul6es 

r^  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
I — I   Pages  d^coiortes,  tachetdes  ou  piques 

I     I  Pages  detached/ Pages  d6tach6es 
[•i  Showthrough/ Transparence 

□  Quality  of  print  varies  / 
Qualit6  indgale  de  I'impresskin 

□   Includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  materiel  suppldmentaire 

I     I   Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata  slips, 

—  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  totalement  ou 
partiellement  obscurcies  par  un  feuiilet  d'enata,  une 
pelure,  etc.,  ont  6t6  filmdes  k  nouveau  de  fagon  k 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 

j      I   Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 

—  discotourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant  ayant  des 
colorations  variables  ou  des  d6colorations  sont 
film^s  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la  meilleure  image 
possible. 


This  Mwn  hi  flliMd  (tt  tlw  radueUon  ratio  chadnd  below  / 

Co  docwiMnt  oM  Mm*  Ml  taux  da  rMuelion  Indiqu*  ci^tonotM. 


lOx 

14x 

18x 

22x 

26x 

30x 

^/ 

1 

12x 

lex 

20x 

Ml 

28X 

asv 

Tb«  copy  filmed  h«r«  has  b««n  raproducad  thanks 
to  tha  ganarosity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'axamplaira  filmA  fut  raproduit  grica  k  la 
gAnirositi  da: 

Bibliotheque  nationale  du  Canada 


Tha  Imagas  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bast  quality 
possibia  eonsidaring  tha  condition  and  laglbillty 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  spacif icationa. 


Original  copias  in  printad  papar  covars  ara  filmad 
beginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  impraa- 
sion,  or  tha  back  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  copiaa  ara  filmad  beginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  impraa- 
sion,  and  anding  on  tha  last  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  impression. 


The  lest  recorded  freme  on  eech  microfiche 
shell  contein  the  symbol  — ^  (meoning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  ▼  Imeening  "END"). 
whichever  applies. 


Les  imsges  suivsntes  ont  M  reproduites  svec  le 
plus  grand  soin.  compta  tanu  de  la  condition  at 
de  la  nattet*  de  I'eiempleire  film*,  et  en 
conformity  evec  les  conditions  du  contrat  ds 
filmsge. 

Lee  exempleires  origineux  dont  la  couverture  en 
pepier  eot  imprim^  sent  filmis  en  commen«ant 
per  le  premier  plot  et  en  terminant  soit  psr  Is 
derni4re  pege  qui  comporte  une  emprainte 
d'impreasion  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplairas 
origirtaux  sent  film4s  an  commandant  par  la 
premiere  pege  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impreasion  ou  d'illustretion  et  en  terminant  par 
la  darniire  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  dee  symboles  suivants  sppareitra  sur  la 
darniire  image  da  cheque  microfiche,  salon  le 
ces:  le  symbols  -^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE '.  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  pietes,  cherts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  et 
different  reduction  rotios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  ere  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  bond  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diegrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartas,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  itre 
filmto  A  des  taux  da  reduction  diffirents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grsnd  pour  itre 
reproduit  en  un  soul  cliche,  II  est  film*  A  psrtir 
de  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  *  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bes,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'imegea  nAcasssire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mAthode. 


1 

2 

3 

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MiaOCOTY   RESOIUTION   TBT  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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^    /APPLIED  IMHGE    I, 


1653  East  Main  Street 

Rochester.  New  York       14609      USA 

(716)  482  -  0300  -  Phone 

(716)  288 -5989 -Fox 


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MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


MOYLE 
CHURCH-TOWN 


A  NOVEL 


BY 


JOHN  TREVENA 


ALFRED  A.   KNOPF 

NEW  YORK 

1915 


^■^ 


Ctftyright  in  tht  Britisk  Emfir*  hy 
MiUt  &•  Boon  Limittd 

Printtd  in  Grtat  Britain  bf  IViUiam  Brtndon  6*  Son  LimiM 
Pljm'^th,  Bnglaml 


0y4iJ4»i 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTB* 
I. 

II. 


III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 
XIII. 


PART  I 

A  Few  Lines  of  Forgotten  History 
John  Clabar  is  Dismissed  and  Red 

Cap  Appears  .... 
A  Couple  of  Uncommon  Gentlebien 
A  Peculiar  Visitor  to  Coinagehall 
Jacob  Hears  Good  Tidings 
Cherry    Comes    to    Her    Father's 

Cottage 
Ruth  Receives  the  Spring 
The  Place  is  Haunted 
A  Sad  Dog  Tells  His  Story 
Sir  Thomas  Opens  His  Book 
Ruth  Comes  to  the   End   of   her 

Captivity 

The  Adventures  of  Ruth  IN  Fairyland  113 
The  Attorney  Enjoys  a  Stroke. of 

Great  Good  Fortune    .        .        .127 


PACK 

I 


5 

19 
30 

39 

45 
59 
64 
72 
87 

99 


PART  II 

I.    The  Coming  of  a  New  Religion  139 

II.    The  Ingenious  Mr.  Francis  Barclay  151 

III.    Jacob  Plays  a  Game  of  Find  the  Lady  163 

vii 


vitt  CONTENTS 

CH  APTBIl  •■»— 

IV.    Ruth  Begins  to  Travel    .        .        •    i75 
V.    The  Quack  Doctor  Swears  to  Amend    i88 
VI.    Two  Young  People  Fall  Out  upon 

THE  Way 202 

VII.    Certain    Curious    Discoveries    are 

Made 210 

VIII.    Two  Young  People  Try  to  Settle 
their  Differences  in  the  Usual 

Manner 222 

IX.    Martin  is  Expelled  from  the  Wood- 
lands     234 

X.    The  Younger  Son  does  but  Little 

Good  for  Himself  .        .    246 


PART  III 
I.    Ruth  and  her  Medical  Attendant 

Arrive  at  Salisbury     .        .        .  258 
II.    A  Foolish  Old  Gentleman  Entertains 

Two  Distinguished  Guests     .        .  266 

III.  A  Very  Curious  Form  of  Hospitality  283 

IV.  Ruth  Continues  her  Travels    .        .  298 
V.    Jacob  Gives  a  Party                 .        .313 

VI.    A  Day  of  Quarrels  Ending  Well  .  323 

VII.    Jacob's  Last  Stake  .        .        .        -333 

VIII.    Jacob  Argues  fcr  the  Last  Time     .  343 

IX.    Only  John  Clabar  is  Unhappy        .  352 

X.    The  Great  Fire  and  What  Followed  364 


MOYLE  GHURCH-TOWN 


PART   I 


CHAPTER  I 


A  FEW  LINES  OF  FORGOTTEN  HISTORY 


There  was  never  a  place  like  Cornwall  for  ghosts 
and  fairies.  People  far  east  of  Tamar  might  boast 
of  local  imps  and  apparitions ;  nor  would  any  envious 
Saxon  deny  that  Dartmoor  was  a  famous  upland  with 
its  dancing  maidens,  mischievous  pixies,  whist-hounds, 
and  hunting  parsons,  whose  bodies  were  as  dead  as 
door-nails,  but  whose  spirits  frisked  maliciously  upon 
earth,  until  "  laid  "  by  the  spells  of  magic  in  snuff- 
boxes and  beer-bottles.  Besides,  the  evil  one  himself 
was  always  going  up  and  down  between  Tavistock 
and  Widdecombe,  collecting  the  signatures  of  those 
who  were  ready  to  dispose  of  their  souls  in  return  for 
services.  Did  he  not  once  have  a  set-to  with  Sir 
Francis  Drake ;  from  which  contest  my  lord  Beelzebub 
retired  with  two  of  the  blackest  eyes  ever  recorded, 
and  a  nose  which  had  never  been  so  mauled  since 
St.  Dunstan  caught  it  in  his  pincers  ? 

If  any  man  declares  that  Cornish  ghosts  and  fairies 
are  not  superior  to  all  British  imps  and  apparitions, 
whatsoever,  we  challenge  that  person  to  meet  us 
next  full  moon  upon  the  summit  of  Whist  Tor 
— ^now  known  as  Yes  Tor — ^where  the  Master  of  the 
Black  Hunt  was  wont  to  kennel  the  Windy  Hoimds ; 


2  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

and  there,  having  pommeled  him  sorely  with  fist  and 
argument,  we  shall  leave  him  to  be  pinched  to  death. 

"  Ah  I  here's  an  error  in  the  first  page,"  cries  the 
man  with  the  long  forefinger.  "  West-country  fairies 
are  as  British  as  a  Yorkshire  boggart." 

Wise  man,  remember  we  are  dealing  with  the 
crooked  writing  and  yellow  parchment  of  folk-lore : 
these  records  are  much  decayed,  the  sheets  fall  to 
pieces  in  our  hands,  while  the  ink  comes  away  in  flakes. 
Hast  ever  heard  of  the  man  in  the  moon  ?  Of  course 
you  have,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  you  should  point 
the  long  forefinger  and  look  ctmning.  The  man  in 
the  moon  is  British  for  this  reason : 

Once  upon  a  time  the  territory  which  is  now  the 
moon  broke  off  from  this  earth ;  and  if  it  had  not 
broken  off  it  must  have  become  a  part  of  the  British 
Empire ;  while  the  man  in  the  moon  would  have 
pulled  a  stick  from  his  faggot,  fastened  to  it  the  Union 
Jack,  and  sung  "  By  Jingo  1 "  ever  afterwards.  That 
is  good  folk-lore  reasoning  and  sound  romantic  logic. 
Some  of  us  happen  to  know  that,  when  the  moon  was 
switched  off  into  space,  there  was  no  West  of  England 
beyond  Pljmiouth :  daiing  folk  will  argue  there  was 
no  Plymouth  either,  but  we  shall  reply  that,  as  the 
Sound  was  there,  the  town  could  not  have  been  far 
off.  The  very  day  after  the  man  in  the  moon  left 
with  all  his  land — it  is  clearly  established  that  he  was 
being  troubled  a  great  deal  by  certain  commissioners 
who  lived  in  mud  huts  beside  the  Thames  upon  the 
precise  site  where,  by  a  curious  coincidence,  certain 
speech-grinding  chambers  were  subsequently  erected 
— a  mighty  wave  struck  the  extreme  western  coast ; 
and  when  it  had  subsided  the  mayor  and  corporation 
of  Plymouth  were  amazed  to  behold,  floating  to- 
wards them,  a  big  island,  which  had  obviously  just 
risen  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea  ;  for  it  was  all  wet 
and  glistening,  besides  being  covered  with  shell- 
fish  and  seaweed.     It  reached  the  mainland  with 


LINES  OF  FORGOTTEN  HISTORY         3 

such  a  bump  that  the  mayor  and  corporation  fell  in 
a  dignified  fashion  upon  their  backs,  while  those  of 
no  account  sprawled  anyhow  upon  their  faces :  re- 
covering their  feet,  they  hastened  to  explore  the 
island,  which  had  already  fastened  itself  to  the  main- 
land, so  neatly  tha.t  not  even  a  seam  was  visible ; 
and  quickly  dis'-overed  it  to  be  populated  by  all 
sorts  of  ghosts,  fairies,  witches  and  giants,  some  of 
whom  ran  off  into  Devonshire  at  once,  and  took  to 
Dartmoor,  where  they  have  remained  ever  since. 
The  people  of  Plymouth  were  excited,  for  even  in 
those  days  such  an  event  was  of  no  ordinary  occurrence. 
They  had  heard  about  the  unpatriotic  conduct  of  the 
man  in  the  moon,  and  how  he  had  quitted  because  of 
taxes ;  therefore  they  comprehended  that  a  new 
piece  of  territory  had  been  added  to  the  mainland 
by  what  the  town  clerk  called  the  law  of  compensation. 
The  mayor  happened  to  notice  what  appeared  to  him 
as  a  huge  wall — it  was  really  a  giant's  castle — so  he 
said  to  one  of  his  Vices,  "If  we  could  get  over  that 
wall  we  might  grow  com."  Town  coimcUlors  and 
vulgar  people  took  up  his  words :  one  cried  "  Com !  " 
another  shouted  "  Wall !  "  And  finally  they  agreed 
to  call  the  new  country  Cornwall. 

This  must  be  true  history,  because  it  is  sound  folk- 
lore ;  and  it  entirely  explains  why  the  good  Coraish- 
man  has  ever  since  claimed  to  belong  to  a  coimtry 
whose  connection  with  the  rest  of  England  is  nothing 
more  than  a  sentimental  one.  It  also  explains  why 
the  "  naughty  folk  "  of  Comwall  are  not  British :  they 
are  a  race  apart,  and  once  upon  a  time  they  all  lived 
together  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  they  live  there  at  the  present  time ;  because  an 
hundred  years  ago  they  became  frightened  by  the 
alphabet,  and  before  they  had  recovered  properly 
from  that  shock  they  were  stunned  by  the  railway. 
Witches  and  fairies  are  not  afraid  of  parsons  and 
lawyers,  but  they  cannot  endure  alphabets  and  rail- 


( 


f 


4  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

ways.  So  soon  as  a  little  girl  learnt  to  read  and  write 
C-a-t,  the  fairies  ran  away  from  her.  And  immediately 
the  railway  came  bustling  through  the  land,  giants 
and  witches,  not  only  retired  from  business,  but 
departed  altogether.  Some  full  moon  we  shall  stand 
upon  the  summit  of  Whist  Tor  at  midnight,  light  our 
candle  and  whistle  for  our  book,  and  then  perhaps  we 
shall  explain  this  thing  also. 


! 


CHAPTER  II 


JOHN  CLABAR  IS  DISMISSED  AND  RED  CAP  APPEARS 


Nobody  in  the  church-town  of  Moyle  questioned 
the  existence  of  ghosts  and  fairies  during  the  reign 
of  Queen  Anne.  If  there  were  angels  upon  the  scale 
of  creation  higher  than  mortals,  then  it  was  only 
reasonable  to  suppose  there  were  fairies  below.  The 
curate,  in  his  earnest  fashion,  insisted  upon  the  angels, 
and  proved  their  existence  at  least  once  yearly  by 
Greek  quotations  from  the  Fathers,  and  Latin  passages 
from  Pagan  writers,  before  an  indifferent  and  slumber- 
ing congregation ;  the  curate  being  far  more  learned 
than  his  vicar,  who  was  a  great  personage,  fuU  of 
honours  and  offices,  and  one  of  Her  Majesty's  chaplains 
to  boot,  but  he  had  never  been  to  Cornwall  in  his 
life.  Neither  had  any  angels  visited  that  neighbour- 
hood within  living  memory,  although  visitors  from 
the  lower  end  of  the  scale  were  plentiful.  Toby 
Penrice  could  hardly  cross  the  fields,  upon  one  of  his 
courting  expeditions,  without  running  into  a  revel 
of  little  people  ;  while  every  respectable  fisherman  or 
labourer  had  some  tale  to  tell  at  the  close  of  day : 
how  he  was  called  to  the  help  of  some  fairy  wench  in 
difficulty,  or  had  discovered  some  maliceful  little 
demon  chopping  at  his  nets. 

There  was  Mother  Gothal  who  lived  in  a  hovel  upon 
Poldrifty  Downs  ;  an  old  witch  who  turned  flour  into 
sand,  and  had  ruined,  according  to  that  greater  witch 
gossip,  many  a  maiden  who  had  been  foolish  enough 
to  pass  the  hag  without  wearing  a  charm.     There 


1 


f 


6  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

were  Sir  Thomas  Just  and  his  Lady  Manuela,  both 
of  whom  had  lately  arrived  from  the  East,  fully 
qualified  to  practise  all  the  higher  enchantments. 
There  was  also  the  little  attorney,  Jacob  Grambla, 
respected  by  everybody  and  feared  by  all.  He,  it 
was  believed,  had  parted  with  his  soul  to  the  devil, 
and  some  of  the  more  daring  tongues  would  dwell 
upon  the  exact  occasion  when  ♦he  transaction  was 
completed ;  that  fearful  night  vhen  the  window  of 
the  lawyer's  office  shone  with  a  horrible  blue  light, 
while  laughter  as  feariul  sounded  along  the  single 
street  of  Moyle,  so  that  even  the  curate  dared  not  go 
to  bed  \mtil  he  had  fastened  a  pentacle  upon  his  door- 
post. 

No  coaches  passed  through  Moyle  church-town; 
nor  were  there  any  roads  in  the  modem  sense.  Deep 
lanes  afforded  the  only  means  of  entering  the  place ; 
they  were  so  steep  and  rough  that  it  was  a  dan- 
ger to  descend  them  after  dark,  and  so  well  hidden 
from  the  fields  above  as  to  be  death-jumps  for  the 
fox-hunters.  The  inhabitants  were  hemmed  in  upon 
every  side  by  moor  and  sea.  The  market-folk  who 
came  into  Moyle  every  Saturday  moromg,  to  buy  and 
sell  and  chatter,  were  not  visitors,  ►^ut  parishioners 
who  knew  every  yard  of  the  way  and  despised  its 
dangers.  The  lanes  were  noisy  each  Saturday  evenmg, 
when  the  good  folk,  many  of  them  ripe,  were  returning 
to  their  lonely  homesteads  ;  and  it  was  a  pvetty  sight 
to  watch  their  lights  drifting  in  a  long  procession 
across  the  downs ;  for  each  cart  or  jingle  carried  a 
great  lantern  and  a  crowbar,  which  was  necessary  to 
remove  rocks  which  ad  fallen  from  the  banks  or 
sometimes  to  raise  j  vehicle  when  it  had  plunged 
into  a  fathom  of  t     ^. 

Jacob  Grambla  was  busy  upon  mr-'-et-days.  He 
appeared  upon  Moyle  street,  always  t  .c  and  frown- 
■"g,  never  chattering  idle  gossip ;  buc  reaching  one 
larmer  after  another,  touching  him  lightly  with  one 


I 


^ 


JOHN  CLABAR  IS  DISMISSED  7 

finger — startling  the  poor  fellow — and  whispering, 
"Do  ye  need  me,  friend  ?  Can  I  be  of  some  service 
to  you  ?  "  Many  a  yeoman,  strong  in  the  arm  but 
dull  in  the  head,  resisted  voice  and  sting  for  years, 
but  3aelded  at  last ;  while  the  commoner  people  went 
with  him,  not  willingly,  for  they  were  afraid  of  the 
little  lawyer,  but,  much  like  the  children,  compelled 
to  follow  the  pied  piper,  they  entered  the  office  in  the 
middle  of  Moyle  church-town,  and  were  none  of  them 
much  the  richer  for  their  visit.  But  every  man  had 
his  trouble,  and  each  woman  her  difficulty  ;  and  there 
was  nobody  in  their  small  world  able  to  give  advice 
and  help  save  Jacob  Grambla. 

No  tongue  called  a  pleasantry  to  him.  No  hand 
stayed  the  meagre  figure  in  dirty  black  suit,  little 
shrunken  wig,  small-clothes  unfastened  at  the  knees, 
and  worsted  stockings  creased  upon  ^!te  shanks.  The 
majority  were  glad  to  see  him  depart  from  them. 
Yet  some,  who  had  fallen  into  perU  of  debt,  would 
wait,  and  hope  in  a  fearful  fashion,  for  that  sliding 
tread,  thrilling  finger-touch,  and  question  of  judgment, 
"  Do  ye  need  me,  friend  ?  " 

One  evening  Jacob  scurried  up  to"/n  in  his  shadow- 
less way — he  would  spend  half  a  day  upon  the  downs 
— passed  up  the  steps  beneath  the  signboard  "  Jacob 
Grambla,  Attorney  at  the  law,"  entered  the  office, 
which  consisted  of  two  "  rooms  "  ;  a  hen-coop  at 
the  back,  where  John  Clabar  sat  half  the  day  brooding, 
the  other  half  copying ;  a  rabbit-hutch  in  the  front, 
where  a  small  quaint  window  bellied  into  the  street — 
pedestrians  after  dark  collided  with  it  and  cursed  such 
architecture — a  kind  of  parchment  cupboard  where 
all  manner  of  secrets  lay  in  dust,  where  the  hates  of 
the  parish  thrilled  and  its  conscience  mattered ;  and 
here  Jacob  pulled  up  his  stockings,  scried  at  the  cob- 
webs, crackled  a  deed,  kicked  at  the  turves  on  the 
hearth — for  it  was  roaring  March  and  misty — then 
whispered  gently : 


I 


8  MOYLE  CHXJRCH-TOWN 

"  John  Clabar  is  there.  I  cannot  see  him,  but  he 
hears  me  speaking.  What  is  he  doirtg  ?  What  has  he 
been  doing  these  twenty  years  ?  " 

"  Thinking,"  a  voice  replied  from  the  dark  back- 
ground. 

"  Thinking  for  twenty  years !  Then  he  is  now  a 
wise  man,  a  philosopher.  He  should  visit  the  book- 
sellers of  London,  and  ask  them  what  offer  they  make 
for  the  thoughts  of  twenty  years.  He  should  issue 
a  prospectus  and  invite  subscriptions  for  his  printed 
thoughts.  No,  no,  John  Clabar.  It  will  not  do. 
Your  thoughts  are  not  worth  one  penny.  I  have 
been  thinlung  for  more  than  twenty  years — but  I 
think  in  guineas.  You  think  in  pens  and  pothooks. 
I  will  ask  you  questions,  Joh.. ;  I  will  examine  you. 
Out  of  the  wisdom  of  twenty  years  you  shall  answer. 
What  think  you  of  me,  John  Clabar  ?  What  manner 
of  man  am  I — not  as  an  attorney  at  the  law,  not  as 
a  master.    Am  I  not  a  charitable  man  ?  " 

"  I  care  not,"  replied  the  trembling  voice. 

"  He  cares  not,"  said  the  frowning  Jacob.  "  Yet  he 
has  sat  at  my  elbow  for  twenty  years.  That  was  not 
wisdom  answering,  John  Clabar.  It  was  the  truth. 
To  care  not  is  to  think  ill.  Is  it  not  true  gossip  will 
say  to  neighbour,  '  This  Grambla  has  sold  his  soul  to 
the  devil  ?  '  Do  you  believe  I  have  sold  my  soul, 
John  Clabar  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  these  questions  ?  What  matters 
it  to  me  what  contract  you  have  signed  ?  I  share  not 
in  your  profits,"  said  the  vo'-^e. 

"  Why,  that  is  a  pood  answer,  a  pretty  argument. 
Ecce  signiun,  John  Clabar !  Neither  do  you  share 
the  loss.  If  the  devil  comes  for  me,  rot  one  spell 
do  you  mutter,  not  an  abracadabra  do  you  whispei. 
No  partnership,  no  fellowship.  Is  that  the  motto  of 
a  trusted  servant  ?  " 

There  ca  .e  a  fluttering  in  the  coop,  and  out  of  the 
darkness  proceeded  the  white-lined  face  of  a  weary 


me,"    Jacob    muttered. 
Why  did  ye  not  answer 


and  to  get  guineas  we 
we  scheme ;  and  to  get 


JOHN  CLABAR  IS  DISMISSED  9 

scribbler.  The  head  was  grey,  for  this  clerk  wore  his 
own  hair  like  all  poor  men,  while  his  clothes  were  so 
black  they  could  not  be  seen  against  that  background. 

"  When  did  I  swear  to  be  your  trusted  servant  ?  " 
asked  the  head. 

"  The    dog    would    bite 
"  Blockhead,  John  Clabar  ! 

me  straight  ?    No  devil  can  claim  what  no  man  has. 
Souls  I   They  be  for  curates.    Bodies  are  for  the  world, 
and  guineas  are  for  bodies ; 
think;  and  to  get  guineas 

guineas  we  catch  fools,  John  Clabar,"  said  Jacob,  his 
voice  ending  in  the  hoarsest  whisper. 

"  The  sands  are  out,"  Clabar  muttered,  one  white 
hand  indicating  an  hour-glass  at  his  side,  the  other 
stealing  for  his  hat. 

"  Clerk  reminds  preacher  that  the  congregation 
wakes,"  sneered  Jacob.  "  The  work  is  over — ^the 
last  pen  mended — and  now  you  would  go.  The  sands 
are  running  out,  John  Ciabar.  I  will  provide  you  a 
discourse  from  that  text,  but  I  would  not  weary  you. 
My  firstly  for  to-day,  and  my  secondly  for  to-morrow. 
I  shall  now  discuss  charity,  that  most  excellent  virtue, 
lacking  which  no  man  may  prosper ;  but  let  him  not 
forget,  John  Clabar,  where  the  good  thing  has  its 
beginning,  or  he  shall  walk  bare-footed  in  the  world. 
Twenty  years  you  have  mended  my  pens  and  copied 
my  crabbed  hand,  out  of  charity,  for  I  did  not  need 
you.  Have  I  not  often  taken  my  ease  in  this  chair, 
that  I  might  afford  you  occupation — out  of  charity  ? 
And  each  Saturday  have  I  not  rendered  you  one 
guinea— out  of  charity  ?  One  thousand  and  forty 
golden  guineas  have  passed  from  this  hand  to  that. 
A  fortune,  a  heap  of  gold,  a  hill  of  silver,  a  mountain 
of  copper  I  How  many  folk  in  Moyle  parish,  or,  for 
cliat  matter,  how  many  between  here  and  Tamar, 
shall  go  to  their  mattress  or  hole  in  the  wall,  and  dis- 
cover there  one  half  of  a  thousand  and  forty  guineas. 


10  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

to  bring  gladness  to  the  eye  and  un  honest  smart  to 
the  body  ?  Yet  such  a  fortune  I  have  lavished  upon 
you,  John  Clabar,  out  of  charity." 

"  Was  there  no  debt  ?  "  the  voice  muttered. 

"  A  debt !  No,  by  all  the  angels  !  Would  rob  me 
of  my  virtue,  ungrateful  scoundrel  ?  Would  repay  me 
always  with  a  peevish  face  and  whining  tongue  ? 
Go,  John  Clabar  !  Go  to  your  home,  and  thank  God 
for  it— and  make  much  of  it.  My  secondly  you  shall 
hear  to-morrow." 

Even  in  those  days  a  Comishman's  to-morrow  did 
not  mean  the  next  day.  When  Jacob  stretched  him- 
self in  bed  he  had  a  fit  of  shivering  ;  he  felt  sick  when 
he  looked  out  upon  a  raw  March  morning  r  he  per- 
ceived that  the  atmosphere  around  him  was  charged 
with  witchcraft ;  and  while  drinking  the  small  beer, 
and  consuming  the  sUce  of  pig's  cheek,  which  the 
maiden  Ruth  placed  upon  his  breakfast  table,  he 
muttered  the  names  of  Sir  Thomas  Just  and  Lady 
Manuela  several  times.  Then  he  scurried  from  Coinage- 
hall,  as  his  house  was  named  ;  flitted  through  the  lanes 
with  the  rapid  but  silent  progress  of  a  raven ;  came 
out  upon  Poldrifty  Downs— more  easy  in  mind  when 
his  face  felt  the  wind,  and  the  toes  of  his  great  square 
shoes  kicked  crooked  stems  of  heather — until  he  drew 
up  at  the  entrance  to  the  hut  where  Mother  Gothal 
lived. 

"  An  accursed  home— God  bless  it,"  the  attorney 
mumbled,  as  he  groped  through  a  cloud  of  peat-smoke. 
"  Mammy,  my  dear,  appear  from  your  hell-fumes. 
Jacob  Grambla,  attorney  at  the  law,  waits  upon  you 
with  his  fee.  Come  out  and  advise  the  adviser  of 
Moyle  parish,"  he  called  in  a  shrill  but  friendly  fashion  ; 
for  with  all  his  learning  Jacob  had  much  fear  of  Mother 
Gothal. 

"  Aw,  master,  I  never  looked  to  see  ye  so  early. 
You'm  the  first  to  come  up  to-day,"  said  the  old  woman 
as  she  crept  out  to  point  downwards  at  the  lake  of  mist 


JOHN  CLABAR  IS  DISMISSED 


II 


beneath  which  Moyle  church-town  lay  submerged ; 
then  putting  up  a  hand  to  comb  the  greasy  locks  from 
her  furrowed  forehead,  "  I  ha'  slept  ill  to-night," 
she  said,  trying  to  fold  her  rags  into  some  semblance 
of  decency.  "  The  wind  was  roaring,  and  the  whist- 
hounds  were  abroad." 

"  You  can  lay  'em,  Mammy.  Dogs  or  devils,  you 
can  lay  'em  deep  in  Dozmare  Pool.  Bring  out  a  bucket 
of  fair  water.  Mammy  dear.  There's  mischief  in  the 
air.  I  feel  it  in  my  heart  and  in  my  bones.  I  want 
your  eye  to  see  it  for  me." 

"  Aw,  master,  it  hain't  lawful,"  began  the  old 
woman  faintly. 

"  I'll  tell  nobody.  If  they  drag  you  to  the  pond, 
I  will  break  the  lot  of  them.  There's  not  a  body  in 
Cornwall  who  can  tell  the  future  like  old  Mother 
Gothal.  Hark  ye,  Mammy  !  Come  nearer — God  send 
this  wind  don't  carry.  Would  Sir  Thomas  and  his 
lady  stoop  to  me  ?  " 

"  You  talk  so  learned,  master,"  the  old  dame  pro- 
tested. 

"  You,  a  witch,  who  can  mutter  the  Bible  back- 
wards !  Play  no  games  with  me,  or  I'll  crush  your 
roof.  Who  is  brewing  this  trouble  for  me  ?  Tell  me 
that." 

The  old  woman  brought  the  buck«^t  of  water.  The 
attorney  flung  a  shilling  into  it ;  then  Mother  Gothal 
bent,  muttered  a  few  words,  and  stared  at  the  reflection 
of  her  harmless  old  face,  and  beyond  it  to  the  bright 
coin  at  the  bottom. 

"Do  ye  see  nothing  yet  ?  "  cried  Jacob,  while  the 
dame  was  searching  her  imagination  for  pictures  and 
phrases. 

"  There's  a  black  power  agin  ye,  master,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"  Let  that  discover  it,"  Jacob  shouted,  dropping 
a  guinea  in  the  water. 

"  A  face  I  "   muttered  the   old  woman,   her  wits 


12 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


ii 


sharpened  by  the  gold.  "  Master,  don't  ye  stir.  A 
gentleman,  sure  enough.  He  bain't  young,  nor  old 
neither." 

"  Sir  Thomas  !  "  snarled  the  lawyer. 

"  Master !  'tis  wrote  here  in  the  water,  'tis  wrote 
large  ;  beware  of  money,  beware  of  gold  !  "  cried 
Mother  Gothal,  her  imagination  prospering  upon 
suggestion.  "  Now  the  water  be  black — there's  nought 
else." 

"  It  was  the  face  of  Sir  Thomas  ?  " 

"  Master,  it  might  ha'  been." 

"  And  the  gold  ?    Not  the  gold  of  the  Clabars  ?  " 

"  'Tis  the  gold  of  the  man  whose  face  I  saw  in  the 
water." 

"It  is  well — it  is  very  well,"  said  the  satisfied 
attorney.  "  Sir  Thomas  would  throw  no  gold  at  me. 
I  shall  visit  you  again.  Mammy  dear.  One  word 
before  I  go.    You  know  my  clerk,  John  Clabar  ?  " 

"  Surely,  master." 

"  He  is  the  last  of  the  house  ?  " 

"  Master,  you  ha'  forgot " 

"  No  other  man  ?  " 

"  His  daughter — Cherry." 

"  Forgot !  "  shouted  the  attorney.  "  I  never  was 
told.  Where  is  she  hid  ?  The  wife  died — dieH  upon 
the  straw,  with  the  rain  drip,  drip  upon  her,"  he 
muttered. 

"  I  mind  the  night  well,"  said  Mother  Gothal. 
"  'Twas  warm  before  the  big  storm,  but  that  dark 
you  could  feel  it.  I  was  abed,  and  heard  a  voice  calling. 
Young  Squire  Clabar " 

"  He  is  no  squire." 

"  Well,  master,  'twas  the  name  they  called  'en. 
He  was  but  a  boy — young  John  Clabar — as  handsome 
a  dark  lad  as  ever  danced  the  hay." 

"  He  called  you  to  his  wife— and  the  cliild  was  born 
that  night  ?  " 

"  As  fine  a  babe,  master,  as  ever  I  handled." 


I 


JOHN  CLABAR  IS  DISMISSED  13 

"  You  carried  her  away.  You  made  her  invisible. 
Had  you  come  and  told  me,  I  would  have  filled  your 
stocking  with  guineas.    Where  is  the  brat  ?  " 

"  She  is  twenty-one  years  old  this  day,  master. 
She  was  took  to  Plymouth,  where  her  mother's  folks 
ha'  lived  time  out  of  mind.  A  lady  came  for  the 
child,  and  carried  her  away.  '  Cherry  of  Coinagehall,' 
she  i.aid.    'Tis  an  old  name  of  the  Clabars." 

"  Cherry  of  Coinagehall,"  repeated  Jacob,  com- 
pelling his  face  to  smile.  "  A  pretty  jest.  Mammy. 
And  John  Clabar  has  deceived  me  these  twenty  years." 

Jacob  Grambla  wore  the  same  face  for  every  man. 
It  was  fixed  like  the  surface  of  a  rock,  and  the  changes 
upon  it  were  produced  by  the  effects  of  darkness  and 
hght,  sunshine  and  storm  ;  just  as  '-le  stone  might  be 
blackened  by  rain  or  whitened  by  moonshine.  Clabar 
could  not  tell  whether  ^''j  man  behind  that  face  was 
pleased  or  angry.  The  .erk  reached  the  steps  of  the 
office — each  worn  like  the  stone  before  some  wonder- 
working image— at  nine  by  the  church  clock,  and  set 
the  hour-glass  running;  nine  times  it  had  to  nm 
before  the  day's  imprisonment  was  over.  Eight  times 
it  ran  before  the  attorney  spoke  : 

"  'Tis  a  pretty  hand  you  write,  John  Clabar,  but, 
mark  you,  there  is  no  knowledge  in  round  writing. 
'Tis  not  the  stroke  of  the  t,  nor  the  dot  of  the  i,  but 
the  learning  that  matters.  I  write,  and  you  copy  ;  I 
speak,  and  you  echo.  A  monkey  or  parrot  might  do 
as  well,  and  cost  but  litule.  The  quarry  cliff  in  Bezurrel 
Woods  will  copy  words  in  air.  I  may  stand  beside  the 
water  of  the  pool,  and  call, '  This  indenture  witnesseth.' 
and  the  cry  is  forthwith  returned.  That  is  excellent 
good  copying,  but  there  is  no  knowledge  in  it.  If  I 
fall  into  error,  the  voice  in  the  air  will  not  correct  me." 

"  I  am  not  here  to  correct  errors.  If  a  word  be  mis- 
spelt in  your  draft,  it  is  misspelt  in  my  copying,"  said 
Clabar. 

"  Then  I  say  you  are  but  a  simulacrum  with  the 


14 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


i 


pen,"  the  attorney  continued.  "  I  address  the  cliff, 
and  am  answered  without  fee  ;  yet  for  your  answers 
I  must  spend  a  golden  guinea." 

"  Make  echo  your  clerk,"  muttered  Clabar,  with  a 
show  of  courage  new  to  him. 

"  'Tis  a  happy  thought,  John  Clabar.  I  will  take 
pen,  ink,  and  parchment  to  Bezurrel  Woods,  and 
bind  the  echo  by  indenture.  See  you  not  the  trend 
of  my  argument  ?  A  dull  fellow  will  always  copy  the 
man  who  is  wise.  Will  hold  his  head  in  the  like  fashion, 
practise  his  gesture,  ay,  and  imitate  the  very  knot  of 
his  shoe-lace.  You  record  my  fault  in  spelling  because, 
say  you,  this  Grambla  is  wise,  he  has  a  method  in  his 
error,  'tis  some  trick  of  the  law.  You  think  well  of 
me,  John  Clabar  ;  you  fear  me  ;  you  imitate  me.  I 
have  a  daughter." 

The  attorney  played  with  these  words,  and  let  each 
escape  him  slowly.  He  stared  into  the  coop,  sucked 
his  lips,  while  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  nodding 
head  and  the  hand  which  trifled  with  a  sand-box. 

"Now  is  echo  dumb,"  said  Jacob.  "Cherry  of 
Coinagehall.  A  maid  twenty-one  years  of  age,  dwell- 
ing, methinks,  in  Plymouth.  A  broad-faced  wench, 
I  warrant  ye.  Sandy  complexion,  hair  of  tow,  and 
face  of  freckles." 

"  You  have  been  to  Mother  Gothal,"  said  Clabar 
quietly. 

"  I  have  kept  you  in  my  office  twenty  years,  and 
now  for  the  fir^.t  time  you  argue  conclusions  from  the 
premises." 

"  And  now  for  the  first  time  you  accept  an  old 
woman's  tale,"  the  clerk  replied. 

"  A  wise  woman — ^who  would  not  dare  deceive  me." 

"  Who  is  herself  deceived,"  said  Clabar  sternly. 

"There  is  deep  dealing  here."  said  Jacob,  rising 
and  approaching  the  coop.  "  Do  you  not  wonder, 
John  Clabar,  how  'tis  the  people  fear  me?  Yet 
methinks  there  is  no  parishioner  in  Moyle  so  mean  in 


JOHN  CLABAR  IS  DISMISSED 


15 


stature  as  myself.  You  are  twice  my  bulk.  You 
could  at  this  moment  put  out  your  arm,  take  yonder 
shutter,  and  fell  me  to  the  groimd.  Ay,  any  fisher- 
wife  in  Moyle  could  whip  me.  Rise,  John  Clabar  ! 
Get  to  your  home,  and  again  I  say  make  much  of  it. 
Turn  not  your  insolent  back  upon  me,  but  withdraw 
as  you  would  proceed  from  the  presence  of  the  Queen 
— and  I  would  have  you  bow  as  you  depart.  Lower, 
you  rogue  !  Walk  not  as  a  free  man,  but  slink  away 
like  a  dog.  A  daughter  named  Cherry  !  With  that 
fruit  I  will  poison  ye.  How  the  fool  blunders  !  Yet 
he  has  twice  the  size  and  strength  of  Jacob  Grambla  !  " 

In  the  dark  of  the  night  Mother  Gothal  came  to 
Clabar's  mean  abode,  where  he  had  lived  in  solitude 
for  many  years,  and  lifted  up  her  voice  in  protesta- 
tion: 

"  Aw,  Squire,  dear  'ad,  I  ha'  told  Master  Grambla 
about  the  maid,  as  you  bid  me ;  but  trouble  will 
come  of  it,  I  tell  ye.  He  comes  and  says,  '  Scry  for 
me,  Mammy ' ;  though  I  knows  no  more  about  such 
trade  than  the  simplest  maid  in  Moyle.  He  fancies 
I  be  a  witch,  and  if  I  tells  'en  I  bain't,  he  don't  believe  ; 
and  if  I  didn't  do  as  he  asks  of  me,  he'd  be  the  first 
to  tie  my  hands  and  feet." 

"  Continue  to  serve  him,"  said  Clabar.  "  But  serve 
me  too,  and  if  the  day  ever  comes  when  Coinagehall 
is  mine " 

"  It  will.  Squire.    I  knows  'twiU." 

Clabar  held  the  old  woman's  arm,  and  wuispered 
at  her  ear. 

"  Aw,  bless  my  dear  soul  and  body  !  What  be 
telling  to  me.  Squire  ?  Wam't  I  there  ?  Didn't  I 
bring  the  maid  into  the  world  ?  Didn't  her  coo  to 
me  ?  What  maid  had  ever  such  a  bud  of  a  nose, 
and  the  like  of  they  two  little  blossoms  of  eyes,  and 
such  a  cherry-ripe  skin  vn'  a  dimple  grown  already  ? 
Don't  ye  be  so  foolish.  Squire." 

"  She  herself  put  it  into  my  mind,"  said  Clabar. 


x6 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


r    r 


"  A  maid  is  always  in  danger.  A  maid  may  so  easily  be 
injured." 

"  Lord  love  ye,  lad !  Master  Grambla  will  ride  to 
Plymouth,  and  find  out  for  himself.  Or  he'l!  raise  the 
devil  to  tell  him." 

"  Cherry  is  coming  here." 

"  Alleluia  !  "  cried  the  dame.  "  I  don't  know  what 
it  means,  but  I  say  it  to  Heaven,  and  they'll  know  there 
likely.  Alleluia,  Squire  !  'Tis  the  beginning  of  the 
end,  and  the  end  be  always  good." 

"  If  I  do  not  go  to  her,  she  will  come  to  me.  I  am 
afraid,  but  she  insists,"  Clabar  went  on. 

"  When  master  comes  to  puzzle  me  wi'  questions, 
I  shall  tell  'en  I  mistook,"  Mother  Gothal  answered. 

The  days  lengthened,  and  primroses  were  budding 
in  the  lanes.  It  was  Sunday,  and  Clabar,  walking  out 
to  win  energy  from  sunshine,  met  Toby  Penrice, 
whom  he  regarded  as  fool  and  idler ;  for  he  did  no 
work,  although  a  man  of  forty,  and  lived  upon  the 
money  his  father  had  bequeathed  to  him,  lodging  in 
the  house  of  one  Caheme,  a  rhinder.  The  usual  words 
of  greeting  passed,  and  Clabar  was  moving  on,  when 
Toby  pushed  his  hat  over  one  eye,  pulled  at  his  long 
hair,  and  asked,  "  Where  be  you  agoing  to  live  now. 
Master  Clabar  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  shifting,"  replied  the  clerk. 

"  Hey,  not  shifting  !  "  cried  Toby.  "  Well,  that's 
the  funniest  thing  as  ever  I  heard  on." 

"  Who  told  you  I  was  sliifting  ?  "  asked  Clabar. 

"  Master  Grambla  told  me,  and  he  ha*  given  me 
writing  what  ses  I  be  to  have  your  cottage  this  month." 

"  When  did  he  give  you  the  promise  ?  " 

"  Last  night." 

"  Very  well,  Toby ;  I  see  you  know  everything. 
The  cottage  belongs  to  Grambla.  He  may  do  what 
he  wills  with  it." 

The  clerk  spoke  like  a  man  at  his  ease,  but  walked 
on  sick  at  heart. 


I 


JOHN  CLABAR  IS  DISMISSED  17 

It  was  useless  to  address  the  attorney,  who  chose 
his  own  moment  to  make  announcements.  Day 
after  day  passed,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  little  man 
would  never  speak ;  but  upon  the  following  Saturday 
evening,  as  dusk  drew  on,  Jacob  sat  upright  over 
the  ledger,  balanced  the  great  book  between  both 
hands,  then  closed  it  with  a  loud  report. 

"  John  Clabar,  give  me  signs  of  your  attention," 
he  began,  speaking  more  rapidly  thaui  was  his  wont. 
"  You  heard  the  closing  of  this  volume.  From  to-day 
we  part.  The  book  is  closed.  I  have  drawn  the 
balance.  My  fortune  would  not  furnish  the  rake  with 
funds  for  a  week's  carousal.  Give  me  some  signs, 
John  Clabar." 

The  clerk  rose  and  walked  out  into  the  hutch. 
The  space  was  so  small  that  the  two  men  almost 
filled  it. 

"  An  honest  face,"  the  attorney  muttered.  "  If 
prayers  would  give  me  such  a  face  I  would  go  on  my 
knees  this  moment." 

"  You  have  givren  my  home  to  another.  You 
brought  my  father  to  ruin,  my  wife  to  the  grave. 

And  now " 

"  I  have  a  guinea  here — ^your  last.  Insult  me  with 
lies,  and  I  withhold  it.  I  took  you  in  without  one 
word  of  writing  ;  I  gave  you  a  home  v,'ithout  one  word 
of  writing.  As  you  came,  you  shall  go.  The  tongue 
accepted  and  the  tongue  dismisses." 

"  What  ill  have  I  done  ?  "  began  Clabar,  but 
stopped  ;  for  he  would  not  plead. 

"  If  a  guinea  rolled  upon  the  floor,  j'ou  would 
gather  it,  and  return  it  to  me.    If  an  incautious  word 
escaped  my  lips,  that  you  would  not  retain.     You 
shall  leave  Moyle,  John  Clabar,"  said  Jacob  swiftly. 
"  Never  !  "  cried  the  clerk. 

"  I  now  dismiss  you.  Twenty  years,  days  in  that 
comer,  nights  in  my  cottage,  have  consumed  your 
manhood.    Shame  on  you,  John,  to  choose  a  life  of 


i8 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


f  \ 


i> 


charity!     Take   your  guinea.     This   day   sennight 
quit  your  home— and  Moyle." 

"  I  will  never,  so  long  as  I  may  live,  dwell  out  of 
sight  of  my  father's  house.  That  I  swear,"  cried 
Clabar  loudly. 

The  attorney  said  nothing.  He  had  turned  from 
Clabar  towards  the  window.  As  that  voice  rang 
out  he  fell  back  in  a  state  of  terror,  reached  for  his 
snuff-box,  and  plunged  into  the  dust  two  trembling 
fingers.  The  sound  of  the  door  closing  behind  the 
man,  who  was  not  again  to  enter  that  cramped  comer, 
caused  Jacob  to  start  towards  the  window. 

"  Nothing— nothing  there,"  he  whispered. 

John  Clabar  descended  the  worn  steps,  his  head 
low,  his  shoe-laces  trailing.  His  footsteps  died  away. 
It  was  nearly  dark  upon  the  street,  and  opposite  the 
rushlights  began  to  glimmer  faintly.  There  was  no 
rain,  but  the  passing  clouds  were  black.  For  the 
second  time  a  shuffling  sounded  beneath  the  window 
which  bellied  into  the  street ;  a  red-peaked  cap 
appeared  behind  one  of  the  small  central  panes,  two 
fixed  eyes,  a  wounded  face.  An  apparition  stood 
there,  staring  into  the  office,  its  nose  against  the 
glass,  one  shrunken  finger  pointing  at  Jacob  Grambla, 
who  had  not  strength  to  stretch  his  hand  towards 
the  shutter. 


U. 


CHAPTER  Til 


A  COUPLE  OF  UNCOMMON  GENTLEMEN 


The  light  was  fading  as  a  carriage  drew  up  at  the  door 
of  a  small  inn.  A  grave  gentleman  alighted,  wrapped 
in  a  cloak ;  his  head  covered  with  a  black  hat  of 
unusual  size,  and  not  of  EngUsh  make.  He  entered, 
while  the  landlord  followed,  honoured  by  the  patronage, 
but  terrified  at  the  presence,  of  Sir  Thomas  Just. 

"  Sir,  you  are  arrived  in  good  time,  for  this  road 
after  dark  is  a  peril  to  man  and  beast.  Sir,  there 
is  a  mud-hole  yonder  which  would  hold  a  hay- wain," 
said  the  bowing  and  obsequious  man.  "  Sir,  permit 
me  to  bring  candles — wax  candles  for  your  honour — 
and  to  offer  you  the  best  entertainment  my  poor 
house  affords.  Sir,  had  your  honour  sent  me  word 
by  the  mail  of  your  coming,  I  should  have  been  better 
prepared.  Sir,  is  the  fire  to  your  liking  ?  These 
turves  are  not  fuel  for  your  honour ;  but,  alack, 
I  had  no  warning.  I  have  charcoal,  and  fir-logs,  ay, 
and  sea-coal  also  at  the  disposal  of  yt'T  honour. 
Sir,  will  it  please  your  honour  to  be  at  ease  ?  " 

"  Bring  logs,  and  build  a  cheerful  fire,"  Sir  Thomas 
ordered.  "  Weary  travellers  should  be  welcomed 
by  a  blaze  which  polishes  the  root-beams,  not  by 
yonder  handful  of  red  ashes." 

"  When  will  it  please  your  honour  to  dine  ?  " 

"  Immediately  my  guest  arrives.  Prepare  dinner 
for  two,  and  bedchambers  also." 

"  Sir  !  "  exclaimed  the  troubled  landlord.  "  There 
is  no  other  house  near,  and  the  last  coach  has  passed." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  shall  not  dine  alone.     Harkye, 

19 


I 


If 


•0  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

landlord  I  Set  a  servant,  at  the  door,  and  bid  him 
to  call  me  when  a  traveller  passes  with  his  face  west- 
ward." 

Producing  a  coin,  he  sent  it  spinning  to  the  roof, 
sajTng,  "Heads  he  comes  this  way.  Tails  he  does 
not.  Set  your  shoe  upon  the  coin,  landlord.  It  has 
fallen  heads.  My  thousand  guineas  to  your  penny 
it  is  heads." 

"  Even  so,  your  honour,"  stammered  the  worthy 
man,  while  he  stared  at  the  enchanted  coin. 

When  the  host  had  hurried  out,  Sir  Thomas  laughed 
like  a  boy,  then  murmured,  "  To  conquer  the  people 
we  must  play  these  childish  tricks.  This  coin  is  but 
a  brass  token,  bought  from  a  Roman  gipsy,  with  a 
head  of  the  goddess  Fortune  upon  each  side." 

He  drew  a  paper  of  the  Spectator  from  the  folds  of 
his  cloak,  and  seated  himself  upon  an  oaken  settle. 

The  night  was  barely  dark,  for  less  than  an  hour 
had  gone,  when  a  voice  called  at  the  door.  Another 
answered— less  harsh  but  a  trifle  hoarse— and  unme- 
diately  Sir  Thomas  pushed  his  paper  towards  the  table 
and  crossed  the  room,  his  face  wearing  an  expression 
of  great  kindness.  The  fat  landlord  struck  his  body 
with  the  opening  door,  and  his  ears  with  the  announce- 
ment, "  Sir,  the  young  gentleman  !  " 

"  Ask  him  to  attend  me  here,"  replied  the  baronet. 

"Sir,  he  is  unwilling." 

Sir  Thomas  stepped  out,  calling  in  the  voice  of 
authority,  "  Stay,  young  gentleman  !  You  are  my 
guest  to-night." 

Taking  the  stranger— a  strong  but  shrinking  youth 
— by  the  hand,  he  drew  him  in,  and  they  turned  to- 
gether, Sir  Thomas  calling,  "  Landlord,  dinner !  " 
before  addressing  the  young  traveller  with  words  of 
welcoming  reproof :  "  Confess  that  yonder  moorland 
offers  nothing  to  equal  this  glow  of  firelight  upon  the 
oak,  and  warm  light  of  candles." 

"  There  will  soon  be  moonshine  upon  the  granite, 


UNCOMMON  GENTLEMEN 


sz 


and  the  gleam  of  the  fairy  moss,"  the  young  man 
answered. 

"  Good  things  when  a  man  has  dined." 

"  I  have  a  little  bread,  and  there  is  alwa3rs  water 
upon  the  moor." 

"  There  are  robbers  upon  the  highway." 

"  They  cannot  rob  the  traveller  who  carries  no 
purse." 

"They  may  kill  him  before  they  find  he  has  no 
purse.    Do  you  carry  a  charm  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  good  one,"  said  the  young  man.  "  But 
you  might  curse  me  if  you  saw  it." 

"  You  do  not  belong  to  the  wandering  race ;  you 
go  alone,  and  you  are  too  fair.  Young  man,  yonr 
fairness  puzzles  me.  You  are  no  Egyptian,  and  yet 
I  think  you  have  been  with  them." 

"  They  are  thieves  and  murderers.  The  young  man 
who  goes  with  them  is  lost.  I  have  been  with  heroes 
who  have  sailed  to  the  Indies  and  sunk  the  French 
in  every  sea — the  sailors  who  roll  between  Dock  and 
Plymouth,  and  are  kind  to  man  and  beast.  You  may 
tell  me  God  made  braver  men,  but  I  shall  not  believe 
you." 

"  God  might  have  made  braver,  but  would  not. 
What  is  your  charm,  young  man  ?  " 

"This,"  said  the  other;  and  he  crossed  himself, 
then  added,  "  Now  you  will  let  me  go." 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  cried  Sir  Thomas,  starting 
forward. 

The  landlord  meanwhile  had  retired  to  the  kitchen, 
where — after  boxing  the  ears  of  the  cook-maid  for 
neglecting  the  spit— he  detained  his  busy  wife  with 
dark  sayings : 

"  I  like  not  the  looks  of  that  young  man.  He  is  no 
honest  mortal,  I  tell  ye,  Bess." 

"  All  sorts  come  to  an  inn.  His  honesty  don't  matter 
to  we,"  replied  the  woman. 

"  You  don't  come  to  my  point,  Bess.     I  say  he 


.li 


99 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWr 


I 


ant  honest  flesh  and  soul  like  me  and  you.  Sir  Thomas 
says,  'Dinner  and  chambers  for  two,  landlord,'  then 
he  whistles  in  a  manner  of  his  own,  and  this  young 
gentleman  comes  along  the  road." 

"  Did  hear  him  whistle  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  My  ears  were  charmed,"  he  explained.  "  I  like 
not  the  face  o'  mun.  'Tis  the  face  of  body  without 
soul.  'Tis  more  of  a  spiritual  complexion  than  a 
mortal  face.    'Tis  a  knavish  face,  too,  I  warrant." 

"  Sir  Thomas  may  call  all  the  saints  and  devils  in 
Cornwall,  if  he  do  but  i-ay  the  reckoning,  say  I.  Let 
the  young  stranger  be,  master;  for,  mind  ye,  Sir 
Thomas  listens  to  every  word  you'm  saying,"  the 
housewife  whispered. 

"  My  dear  soul  I  "  muttered  the  simpleton.  "  Can 
he  hear  through  two  walls  ?  " 

"  Through  twenty,  if  he  sets  his  mind  to  it.  An't 
he  a  magician,  and  an't  he  been  reading  from  his 
book  this  last  hour  ?  " 

"  Didn't  the  horseshoe  drop  down  from  the  door 
last  night  ?  "  cried  the  cook-maid. 

"So  it  did— get  on  with  thy  duties,  hussy !  " 
shouted  the  master,  "  Bess,  my  woman,  'tis  an  ill 
night  for  we.  Last  week  was  bom  in  this  parish  a 
lamb  which  had  one  head,  and  two  bodies,  and  eight 
legs.  'Tis  a  warning  to  all  men  speedily  to  repent 
and  to  meet  the  Lord,  who  gives  us  these  signs  of  his 
coming.  And  what  am  I  but  a  miserable  sinner  ? 
This  fowl  now  roasting  for  his  honour's  dinner — aw, 
my  dear,  I  stole  mun,  and  that's  the  truth  on't." 

He  blabbed  the  confession  into  his  wife's  ear  lest 
the  maid  should  catch  it. 

"  You'm  daft,"  she  whispered  sharply.  "  I  reared 
that  fowl  myself." 

"Ay,  but  I  stole  the  egg."  muttered  the  land- 
lord, drawing  his  good  lady  into  the  passage.  "  The 
Lord  will  ruin  me  for  a  few  bits  o'  shell.  I  won't  tell 
ye  where  I  found  'em." 


UNCOMMON  GENTLEMEN 


23 


"  Master  I "  cried  the  ostler,  entering  at  that 
moment  from  the  yard.  "  There  be  a  big  ugly  toad 
beside  the  water  barrel,  and  her  spits  at  me  every 
time  I  goes  by." 

"  Sir  Thomas  ha'  brought  her,"  cried  the  land- 
lord. "  Her  will  hop  into  the  house,  and  turn  into 
an  old  Jezebel  at  midnight.  I'll  tell  ye,  wife.  I  went 
into  Farmer  Trezona's  yard,  and  picked  up  they 
eggs.  The  fowls  yonder  an't  rightly  ours,  save  by 
adoption.  I'll  carry  'em  to  Trezona's  yard,  and  if 
they  comes  back  here — as  'tis  their  nature  to  do — 
I'll  accept  it  as  a  sign  of  forgiveness,  and  will  steal 
no  more.  But  harkye,  wife,  when  Sir  Thomas  puts 
the  fork  into  a  bit  o'  breast,  and  gets  the  meat  into 
his  mouth,  and  has  a  fair  proper  taste  o'  mun,  he'll 
know  the  truth — the  breast  be  a  fearful  place  for 
secrets — he'll  know  by  his  magic,  and  he'll  call  me 
and  say,  '  Landlord,  how  comes  it  this  bird  was 
bom  from  a  stolen  egg  ?  '  " 

A  door  beyond  opened,  and  the  baronet's  stem 
voice  was  heard  calling. 

"  Coming,  sir,  coming.  Sir,  dinner  is  ready,"  faltered 
the  host.  "Do  ye  go  in,  Bess.  I  would  have  you 
show  cc  'i  age.  'i  ell  him  I  am  taken  with  a  faintness 
— a  shortness  of  breath,  wife.  I  go  to  the  cellar, 
and  on  Sunday,  Bess — on  every  Sunday — we  will 
to  church." 

The  good  man  retired,  while  his  lady  went  into 
the  presence  of  the  guests.  As  she  entered  Sir  Thomas 
was  bending  at  the  table  to  snuff  the  candles ;  and 
being  a  woman  of  sense,  when  her  mind  was  not  be- 
mused by  superstition,  she  was  stmck  by  the  kindli- 
ness of  his  face. 

"  You  have  but  little  regard  for  the  stomachs  of 
hungry  men,"  said  the  baronet  reprovingly. 

"  Sir,  dinner  is  coming  this  moment.  My  husband 
is  taken  with  a  kind  of  ague,  and  I  have  been  attend- 
ing to  him." 


24 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  Bid  him  walk  outside.  The  moorland  air  of 
Cornwall  is  your  best  physician.  You  good  people 
spend  too  much  of  your  liv.  L.c*ween  cellar  and 
latchen.  You  dwell  in  th  vo.'uir)  yet  you  forget 
God  made  it ;  and  you  wo  tU.  maki  ior  yourselves  a 
httle  town  in  your  home." 

"  Sir,  we  must  stay  to  receive  travellers.  Will  it 
please  your  honour  to  drink  wine  ?  "  asked  the  woman 
of  business. 

"  If  your  ale  is  good,  bring  us  a  qua:t.  If  it  is  ill, 
bring  us  spring  water.    How  do  you  answer  ?  " 

"  Sir,  the  ale  is  good,  I  know,  for  I  brewed  it  mjrself  ; 
audit  is  made  from  the  spring  water  of  which  you  speak." 

"  Then  we  shall  drink  it  with  a  relish.  Stay,  my 
good  woman !  " 

The  housewife  turned  from  the  door,  thinking  of 
her  husband. 

"  I  find  a  slight  rent  in  my  cloak.  Bring  me  presently 
a  needle  and  some  thread." 

"  Sir,  if  you  will  permit  me " 

"  But  I  do  not.  This  young  gentleman  has  been 
to  sea,  and  he  will  sail  you  a  cockleshell  against  any 
fisherman  in  Cornwall.  He  will  also  repair  this  rent 
like  any  goodwife.  For  you  must  know  the  sailor 
handles  the  needle  as  readily  as  the  oar.  He  who 
fights  the  ocean  by  day,  and  during  evening  sews 
buttons  on  his  small-clothes,  is  the  man  for  England." 

Dinner  wa.«  then  placed  upon  the  table,  and  par- 
taken of  by  vhe  guests  with  hearty  appetite :  the 
breast  of  the  fowl  retaining  its  secrets,  much  to  the 
satisfaction  of  the  host  who  by  now  was  partaking 
of  something  cordial  with  the  coachman  of  the  baronet, 
and  was  already  inclined  to  forget  his  resolution  to 
amend.  The  night  was  calm,  but  the  ostler,  pointing 
to  the  half  moon  upon  her  back  over  the  heights  of 
granite,  prophesied  a  wind  from  the  north  by  midnight. 

"Now,  young  sir,"  began  Sir  Thomas,  when  the 
cloth  had  been  removed,  the  candles  snuffed,  and  the 


UNCOMMON  GENTLEMEN 


25 


fire  replenished,  "  you  may  feel  in  the  mood  to  tell 
me  something  concerning  yourself.  I  am  particularly 
desirous  of  learning  what  led  you  to  seek  membership 
in  the  great  and  glorious  Church  which  has  been  the 
support  of  my  own  family  throughout  its  history. 
You  have  not  acquired  this  savage  custom,  although 
you  have  been  much  among  the  sailors  ?  "  he  asked, 
extending  the  long  pipe  he  was  about  to  fill.^ 
"  That  would  very  likely  spoil  my  dinner.' 
"  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  like  not  to  see  a  yoi  ng  man 
smoking.  It  is,  as  I  have  said,  a  savage  custom, 
borrowed  from  the  Indians— yet  methinks  soothing. 
Men  adopt  a  foul  habit  during  an  age  of  barbarity, 
and  cannot  escape  from  it  when  they  grow  otherwise 
refined.  Yet  no  man  should  use  this  tobacco  until 
his  beard  has  come.  You  shall  instead  ply  the  needle 
and  repair  me  this  rent  in  my  cloak." 

"  Gladly,"  said  the  young  man,  putting  out  a  firm 
hand  for  the  garment,  then  smoothing  the  raw  edges 
with  cunning  fingers.    "  Sir,  I  would  do  more  than 
this  for  you,"  he  went  on  warmly.   "  I  now  ask  pardon 
for  my  churlish  behaviour,  both  upon  the  highway, 
when  you  stopped  your  carriage  and  invited  me  to 
ride,  and  here,  in  this  room,  when  you  pressed  me  to 
be  your  guest." 
"  You  did  not  trust  me  ?  " 
"  Why,  sir,  to  speak  plainly,  I  was  afraid." 
"  You  mistrusted  my  foreign  appearance  ?  " 
"  I  did  not  know  you,  sir,  and  I  could  not  guess 
you  respected  my  poverty.    The  traveller  who  must 
go  on  foot  is  the  sport  of  every  lackey  on  horseback. 
I  was  not  to  know  you  wished  me  well,  and  so  in  a 
spirit  of  bravado  I  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross.    Ah, 
sir,  those  who  are  joined  together  by  that  sign  may 
indeed  trust  one  another." 

"  You  speak  well,"  murmured  Sir  Thomas,  looking 
with  almost  painful  interest  at  the  face  which  was 
beautiful  in  the  glow  of  firelight. 


26 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  I  go  now  to  join  my  father,"  the  youth  continued. 
"  I  have  lived  in  the  town  of  Dock  with  honest  folk. 
They  have  a  shop  which  supplies  fishermen  and  sailors 
with  the  articles  they  require.  I  served  them  as 
apprentice." 

"  How  did  you  obtain  education  ?  " 

"  Sir,  I  have  but  little." 

"  Yet  you  speak  like  one  of  gentle  blood." 

"  An  old  dame  in  the  same  street  taught  me  letters 
and  figures,  but  could  do  no  more.  I  have  cried  for 
books,  sir.  I  would  read  even  political  pamphlets 
and  street  ballads  till  I  had  them  by  heart.  A  few  of 
my  sailor  friends  lent  me  books,  and  one  who  was — 
who  liked  me  well,  sir — stole  a  book  for  me.  Oh,  sir  ! 
it  was  the  Bible.  Had  I  reproved  him  for  it,  I  should 
have  been  a  worse  sinner  than  himself.  I  did  not 
confess — I  could  not  have  parted  with  the  book. 
I  have  it  here,  in  my  bundle.  I  knew  God  would 
pardon  me  for  accepting  and  keeping  it,  but  I  would 
rather  be  punished — ay,  suffer  many  more  years 
in  Purgatory — than  have  missed  it.  Sir,  when  I  saw 
that  paper  of  the  Spectator  in  your  hand,  I  could  have 
snatched  it  from  you.  If  it  is  written  by  Mr.  Addison, 
will  you  let  me  read  it  ?  " 

"It  is  written  by  Mr.  Addison,  child,  and  to- 
morrow you  shall  have  it  for  your  own,"  said  Sir 
Thomas  kindly. 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  Thank  you.  I  do  not  know 
why  you  are  so  kind.  ^  believe  it  is  your  nature  that 
makes  you  so,  and  I  know  it  is  your  religion.  Now 
I  shall  tell  you  how  I  was  led  to  the  true  Church. 
There  is  a  Mass-room  in  Dock.  Not  many  know  of 
it,  but  you  will  know.  It  is  in  the  house  of  an  Irish 
gentleman." 

"  I  have  heard  of  it,"  said  Sir  Thomas. 

"  The  priest.  Father  Daly,  goes  about  in  disguise. 
An  Irish  sailor  took  me  to  that  Mass-room.  I  had 
told  him  I  wanted  a  religion,  and  I  could  not  find  one 


UNCOMMON  GENTLEMEN 


27 


in  the  English  Church.  I  was  willing  to  be  a  Protestant, 
if  I  could  find  God.  But  I  found  nothing  there  except 
half-drunken  parsons  and  snoring  congregations.  So 
I  went  with  my  friend  to  the  Mass-room,  and  during 
that  hour  I  seemed  to  be  looking  into  h  aven.  Then 
Father  Daly  spoke  to  me,  and  was  as  kind  as  yourself. 
He  asked  me  if  I  had  been  baptised,  but  I  did  not 
know.  Yet  I  could  never  have  been  baptised  by  a 
true  priest." 

"  Take    i  re,  young  gentleman  !  "  cried  Sir  Thomas. 

"  Do  I  offend  you,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  youth  hurriedly. 

"  Nay,  you  are  pleasing  me  very  well.  I  would  have 
you  control  your  voice,  for  it  appears  to  me  yours  is 
an  emotional  nature." 

"  Why,  yes,  sir,"  the  other  murmured,  plying  the 
needle  with  rapid  dexterity. 

"  It  is  true  that  our  religion  is  more  favoured 
by  those  who  shed  tears  readily,"  Sir  Thomas  con- 
tinued. "  The  priests,  I  am  told,  convert  very  few 
men,  but  women  listen  to  them  gladly." 

"Are  not  the  people  called  Nonconformists  emotional, 
sir — men  as  well  as  women  ?  " 

"  I  am  told  so,"  said  Sir  Thomas  gravely.  "  This  is 
a  heresy  which  will  grow.  A  wild  sect— wild  as  the 
winds  of  England— but  a  dangerous.  Young  sir,  you 
wonder  that  I  stopped  my  carriage  whe:  ^w  you 
upon  the  road  ?  " 

"  I  wonder  no  longer,  now  that  I  know  me  kind- 
ness of  your  heart." 

"  Yet  it  is  not  my  custom  to  help  the  wanderer  on 
his  way." 

"  You  would  not  wish  to  share  your  carriage  with  a 

Romany." 

"  I  oleerved  you  in  the  clear  light  walking  before 
me  to  the  west,"  said  Sir  Thomas  deliberate'  "  I 
noted  how  loosely  your  garments  hung  about  you. 
Youngjman,  yours  is  an  ill  tailor." 

"  I  plead  poverty,  sir." 


28 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  It  is  a  good  defence  ;  yet  you  may  know  a  better. 
I  perceived  also  the  movement  of  your  arms.  A  man 
commonly  swings  his  from  the  shoulders  ;  your  hands 
moved  only  from  the  wrists.  I  saw  then  your  shoes, 
although  small,  were  too  large  ;  you  limped  a  trifle, 
therefore  I  knew  the  largeness  of  your  shoes  had  caused 
blisters.  At  last  I  saw  your  face  ;  and  I  ordered  the 
coachman  to  halt." 

"  You  thought  I  was  weary,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  had  no  thought  for  your  'veariness.  I  wondered 
at  your  strength,  while  I  admired  your  features. 
You  aie  marvellously  strong,  young  man." 

"  I  am  strong,  sir,  because  I  have  accustomed  my 
body  to  much  walking  and  rowing.  Daily  I  have 
used  certain  exercises  shown  me  by  the  sailors.  I 
believe,  sir,  I  can  defend  myself." 

"  Yet  you  are  timid." 

"  I  feel  a  dread  of  those  things  I  cannot  understand. 
Sir,  I  fear  spiders." 

"  Yet  they  are  easily  comprehended.  By  what 
name  were  you  received  into  the  Church  ?  " 

"  I  am  called  Peter." 

Sir  Thomas  left  his  seat,  and  took  his  stand  before 
the  hearth.   The  rent  in  his  cloak  was  b  -  now  repaired. 

"  Should  it  not  rather  have  been  Pet^onilla  ?  "  he 
asked  sternly. 

"  Why,  sir  ?  "  the  yotmg  man  muttered. 

"  Give  me  the  cloak." 

The  youth  held  it  out,  rising  as  he  did  so,  and  saying 
hoarsely,  "The  landlady  to-morrow  will  pass  a  hot 
iron  across  the  stitches." 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  the  magician,  bringing  the 
work  near  the  candlelight  and  examining  it  closely. 

"  Where  does  your  father  live  ?  "  he  then  asked 
sharply. 

"  Moyle  Church-town." 

"  Ah  I  "  exclaimed  Sir  Thomas.  "  I  know  the 
village.    Your  father  dwells  there.    His  name  is " 


UNCOMMON  GENTLEMEN 


29 


"  John  Clabar." 

"  Know  you  any  others  in  that  parish  ?  " 

"  Only  by  name  and  report;,  sir.  I  trust  to  find  a 
friend  for  my  father  and  myself  in  Sir  Thomas  Just, 
who  is  lord  of  the  place  ;  for  he  and  his  good  lady  are 
both  Catholics." 

"  I  will  speak  well  of  you ;  for  Sir  Thomas  is  my 
oldest  friend,  and  his  lady  is  very  dear  to  me.  To- 
morrow you  travel  to  Moyle  in  my  carriage.  I  go  in 
that  direction  also." 

"  Sir,  you  are  heaping  favours  upon  me." 

"  Have  you  not  repaired  my  cloak  ?  Are  we  not 
both  of  the  true  faith  ?  Nay,  more — come,  child, 
your  name !  " 

"  I  have  told  you,  sir." 

"  Your  work  betrays  you.  Each  of  these  fine  stitches 
is  a  maiden's  signature.  You  are  wise  to  pass  along 
tht  roads  in  male  attire  ;  but  God  made  you  woman, 
therefore  nobler  than  a  man,  for  a  woman  reigns  in 
heaven." 

"  The  name  by  which  my  father  knows  me  is  Cherry," 
she  whispered. 

"  It  grows  late ;  I  will  now  call  for  candles.  May 
you  sleep,  child,  as  I  would  have  your  future  to  be." 

"  Will  you  not  tell  me  your  name  ?  I  would  use 
it  in  my  prayers,"  she  said. 

"  At  a  better  time  and  place  you  shall  know  my 
name,"  he  answered. 

The  night  was  wild  from  midnight  to  the  dawn ; 
then  all  the  roads  were  silent.  As  the  travellers  were 
about  to  enter  the  carriage,  which  showed  darkly 
against  the  morning  mist,  the  landlord,  now  restored 
to  his  easy  confidence,  approached  Sir  Thomas,  hat 
in  hand,  and  respectfully  addressed  him  : 

"  Sir,  I  would  wish  you  to  remember  I  am  an  honest 
m"-i.  Sir,  I  w^ould  humbly  thank  you  to  strike  your 
hand  upon  this  penny,  and  to  say  what  is  needful,  so 
that  it  may  fall  heads  always  at  my  bidding." 


CHAPTER  IV 


A  PECULIAR  VISITOR  TO  COINAGEHALL 


Jacob  Grambla  hurried  across  his  fields  by  a  crooked 
pathway.  Behind,  Moyle  lay  in  darkness ;  Coinagehall 
in  front  was  black ;  above,  the  sky  threatened.  The 
attorney  shivered  and  chattered  as  he  ran ;  for  that 
pathway  continued  until  it  joined  a  church-way,  which 
made  it  haunted  ground. 

"  I  know  not  why  we  fear  these  spirits,"  he  cried 
aloud.  "  They  do  us  no  hurt ;  they  may  not  even 
speak  till  we  address  them.  'Tis  the  time  of  their 
coming — twilight,  midnight,  the  hour  before  dawn.  A 
man  fears  nought  at  midday.  'Tis  the  staring  eye,  the 
coldness  of  their  presence.  They  steal  no  money — they 
use  no  knife.  I  fear  them  not,  for  God  is  merciful. 
He  protects  his  children.  Accursed  fowls  !  "  for  an  owl 
had  screamed,  and  another  answered.  "  How  they 
freeze  a  man's  marrow  !  This  is  not  fear — perplexity, 
weariness.  That  movement  yonder  in  the  dead  fern, 
as  of  some  one  crawling — not  fear.  The  law  is  strong. 
A  wind  from  off  the  downs — a.  sailful  of  wind — it  plays 
at  ghost  in  the  dead  grass." 

Another  fearful  glance  behind,  and  he  reached  the 
porch.  The  house  was  old  and  much  decayed ;  for  ivy 
had  loosened  stonework,  and  woodwork  had  known 
no  paint  for  many  years.  It  was  a  house  which  groaned 
and  did  not  laugh,  although  it  had  been  merry.  Some 
of  the  upstairs  rooms,  then  closed,  recalled  that  mirth, 
for  they  were  furnished  after  a  simple  fashion,  and 
feminine  trifles  were  still  lying  upon  shelves  :  the 
drowsy  rustling  of  leaves  was  their  lullaby,  the  silky 

30 


VISITOR  TO  COINAGEHALL 


31 


silence  of  dust  their  requiem.  But  in  the  garden  flowers 
of  generations  ago  fought  on.  The  Ciabars  had  been 
rooted  out ;  yet  their  poppies  and  cornflowers — which 
passed  through  all  stages  of  existence  in  one  year — 
endured.  Stone  and  mortar  were  Jacob's ;  but  the 
Ciabars  owned  the  spirit  of  the  place. 

"  Ruth,  my  child  I  "  called  the  attorney,  as  he 
shuffled  along  a  black  passage.  "  Is  there  no  candle  in 
Coinagehall  ?  I  must  procure  more  light.  I  must 
illumine  every  window.  Ghost  and  demon — ay,  and 
red-capped  goblins  flee  from  the  light.  The  moon 
serves  us  ill — was  made  to  rule  the  night,  says  preacher. 
The  moon  lights  no  house,  save  with  horror ;  a  man 
will  do  better  with  his  rushlight.  What  is  the  moon 
but  a  thief's  lantern  ?  Hail,  holy  firelight !  " 

Yet  Jacob  stiffened  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway  of 
his  kitchen,  and  saw  in  the  only  gleam  of  light  between 
that  place  and  Moyle  the  maiden  he  called  daughter. 
Ruth  sat,  or  rather  crouched,  in  a  rush-bottomed  chair ; 
her  dark  hair  in  confusion,  new  colour  upon  her  cheeks, 
younger  life  in  her  eyes ;  with  her  face  turned  half 
fiercely  towards  the  man  who  owned  her  feet  and 
hands,  but  never  yet  had  sought  to  win  her  heart. 
For  one  moment  she  seemed  to  threaten.  Jacob  saw 
that  and  yielded. 

"  Waiting,  Ruth.  Waiting  and  listening,"  he 
whispered. 

Creeping  forward,  he  sniffed  in  the  dark  comers, 
tested  the  shutters,  and  looked  confounded. 

"  The  man  has  been  here,"  he  muttered. 

"  Who  saw  him  ?  "  she  cried,  springing  up  from  the 
low  seat.  Then  she  glanced  at  the  door,  bit  her  lower 
lip,  and  turned  towards  the  fire  to  hide  her  face. 

"  Death  and  confusion  !  "  cried  the  lawyer.  "  An 
evil  spirit  in  Coinagehall !    My  house  is  haunted." 

"  An  evU.  spirit !  "  Ruth  repeated.  "  He  is  white 
in  the  face — trembling  in  every  limb,"  she  murmured, 
watching  over  her  shoulder  as  Jacob  opened  the  door 


32 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


to  listen,  and  to  whisper  every  moment.  "  No  sound — 
no  movement.  A  restless  spirit  would  not  lie  so  quiet." 

"  Are  you  afraid  ?  "  she  called. 

"  Nay,  child,  I  do  not  fear.  I  have  some  religion, 
I  know  some  spells — I  will  to  Mother  Gothal  m  the 
morning.  So  yon  would  ask  me  questions  !  "  he  cried 
with  a  grin.  "  You  would  examine  me — browbeat 
me,  I  doubt  not.  Light  another  candle — light  many 
— and  set  them  in  the  comers.  Only  the  wicked  love 
to  sit  in  darkness.    Why  did  you  watch  this  door  ?  " 

"  I  heard  your  footsteps." 

"  You  were  never  wont  to  watch  for  me.  What 
brings  this  colom-  to  your  cheeks,  this  gladness  into 
your  eyes  ?  Are  you  in  league  with  the  devil  and  his 
angels  ?  Your  mother,  I  believe,  was  no  better  than 
a  witch."  He  stopped  with  a  frown,  always  glancing 
from  door  to  window,  and  shrinking  at  every  move- 
ment of  the  wind.  Never  before  had  he  mentioned 
to  Ruth  the  name  of  mother. 

"  Ah  !  speak  to  me  of  her.  Tell  me  of  my  mother," 
the  girl  prayed. 

"  The  devil  take  you  !  "  Jacob  shouted,  glad  of  the 
courage  in  his  voice.  "  You  would  ask  questions.  You 
would  command.  Go  to  the  pot  and  bring  me  supper 
— and  keep  that  tongue  from  everlasting  chatter." 

"  May  I  not  know  my  mother  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  Curse  you,  wench  !  Would  you  surround  me  with 
spirits  of  the  dead  ?  " 

"  She  is  dead  I  Ah  well,  the  saddest  dreams  are 
true.  I  will  serve  you,  Mr.  Grambla,"  she  whispered, 
and  turned  towards  the  '^earth,  seeing  the  flames  leap- 
ing through  a  mist  of  tears. 

"  Do  you  no  longer  call  me  father  ?  "  demanded 
the  attorney. 

"  'Tis  a  holy  name,  and  you  give  me  no  right  to 
use  it." 

"  Upon  this  night  you  defy  me.  Why  upon  this 
night  do  you  refuse  to  call  me  father  ?  " 


VISITOR  TO  COINAGEHALL 


S3 


Upon  this  night  I  feel  a  woman,"  came  Ruth's 
clear  answer.  "  The  greatest  happiness  of  woman  is 
to  love.  So  much  is  it  the  greatest  happiness  that 
even  to  minister  to  a  worthy  man  is  a  joy  to  her  ;  be- 
cause, if  that  is  not  love,  it  is  at  least  love's  counter- 
feit." 

"  Where  did  you  come  by  learning  ?  "  asked  Jacob 
mockingly. 

"  I  was  bom  with  what  little  I  possess." 

"  A  man  brings  nothing  into  the  world,"  he  mut- 
tered. "  A  woman  brings  malhecho.  That  word  was 
your  mother's — she  had  Spanish  blood.  Her  grand- 
father was  cast  upon  the  rocks  while  flying  from 
Drake's  pinnace  Minion — you  see,  I  have  some  history 
—even  as  you  shall  be,  if  you  defy  me.  Enough  of 
this,"  he  cried  angrily.  "  I  am  not  your  father,  but 
your  master.  I  would  you  had  fallen  as  a  child  and 
bitten  out  your  tongue." 

Ruth  said  no  more,  but  busied  herself  by  preparing 
the  humble  meal ;  yet  the  high  colour  remained  on 
her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  were  bright.  She  was  discover- 
ing her  woman's  strength.  Jacob  sat  huddled  in  his 
chair,  its  straight  back  towering  high  above  his  head  ; 
while  a  clock  wheezed  and  ticked  heavily  behind, 
and  the  night  wind  sighed.  His  head  jerked,  his 
hands  twitched.  He  shuddered  again  and  began  to 
prowl  the  kitchen,  tapping  the  woodwork  with  his 
cane.  Terror,  which  made  him  restless,  forced  the 
question  from  him,  "  At  what  hour  did  this  evil  spirit 
enter  my  house  ?  " 

"  Not  long  before  sunset,"  Ruth  replied. 

"  Was  he  wearing  the  red  cap  ?  " 

Faintly  she  answered,  "  Yes." 

"  So  he  has  terrified  you.  That  is  good.  You  also 
feel  it.    Had  he  a  wounded  face  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  note  it." 

"  He  has  a  running  woimd  beneath  the  cap,"  said 
the  attorney  with  a  convulsion  of  his  whole  body. 


34 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  He  can  put  it  on  and  off  at  will.    The  face  is  ghastly 
—dead  flesh  with  living  eyes     Did  he  speak  ?  " 
''  He  said  he  had  escaped,"  she  faltered 
"  From  the  grave— from  hell,"  cried  Jacob  wildly. 
"  What  did  he  say  of  me  ?  " 
"  He  made  no  mention  of  you." 
''  Did  he  not  say  what  was  his  business  here  ?  " 
''  I  believe  he  had  come  here  by  chance." 
"  You  fool !     No  spirit  acts  without  design.     He 
came  to  Coinagehall  that  he  might  stamp  his  accursed 
image  upon  the  rooms  and  passages.    How  long  did 
he  remain  ?  " 
''  I  know  not— I  was  amazed,"  said  Ruth. 
"  Did  see  him  withdraw  ?  " 

"  One  instant  he  stood  there,"  said  Ruth  boldly, 
yet  with  a  certain  cunning,  as  she  pointed  at  the  door- 
way.    "  Then  he  was  gone." 

"  Ay, 'tis  the  wa-  of  them."  muttered  the  haunted 
man.  "  They  come  like  wind  at  the  lattice,  and  as 
suddenly  depart.  So  you  addressed  him— 'tis  true  you 
have  some  courage.    How  did  he  answer  ?  " 

"  He  said  this  was  surely  a  very  ancient  house.    A 
good  place  for  a  man  who  would  hide  :u  \y  from  the 
world."  Ruth  answered  with  secret  joy. 
"  Did  he  promise  to  return  ?  " 
"  I  did  not  hear  him.    He  confessed  it  was  a  house 
much  to  his  liking." 

The  attorney  groaned  and  came  towards  the  hearth, 
pushing  his  dry  hands  near  the  flames.  "  The  spirit 
of  a  Clabar,"  he  muttered.  "  Listen,  girl !  "  he  cried, 
snatching  at  Ruth's  arm.  "Last  evening,  while  I 
stood  beside  the  window  of  my  office— John  Clabar 
having  departed— this  foul  creature  stood  before  me 
Its  ghastly  countenance  against  the  glass.  John 
Clabar  is  a  rogue,  child.  Mark  that  well !  A  base 
feUow,  and  perchance  a  wizard.  He  knows  too  many 
books,  he  thinks  too  deeply— he  plans  to  ruin  me.  I 
did  my  duty  by  discharging  him.    This  evening  was 


VISITOR  TO  COINAGEHALL  35 

wild  in  Moyle.  The  sun  went  down  in  a  whirlwind— 
a  wind  of  enchantment,  I  warrant— and  again  I  looked 
out,  and  the  evil  one  was  there.  Presently  he  departed, 
and  with  him  went  the  wind.  Others  have  seen  him 
— Caheme  the  rhinder,  Gweek  the  fishernian— he  made 
mouths  at  them,  and  they  went  home  sweating  He 
is  but  five  feet  in  height,  wears  a  blood-red  cap,  black 
clothing— his  neck  scaly  like  a  fish,  and  the  face  all 
dead— a  fearful  sight !  I  have  no  stomach  for  my 
supper.  To-night  I  fear— to-night  .  .  ."  His  voice 
fadod  away  into  gasps  of  terror.  Shuffling  again  to 
the  door,  he  opened  it  and  listened. 

"  Do  you  believe  this  is  John  Clabar's  work  ?  " 
asked  Ruth  composedly. 

"  I  fear  Sir  Thomas  has  a  kindness  for  the  rogue. 
If  he  has  whispered  to  John  Clabar.  if  he  has  taught 
the  villain  from  his  books  of  Eastern  magic  .  .  .'* 

Again  his  voice  failed,  and  it  was  left  to  Ruth  to  add, 
"Then  you  are  ruined." 

Will  ye  be  silent,  wench  !  "  cried  Jacob  wildly. 
"  Taunt  me  no  more ;  or,  by  the  soul  of  your  witch- 
mother,  I  will  whip  you  soundly." 

It  so  happei.ed  that  a  great  calm  prevailed  outside  : 
not  a  leaf  of  ivy  was  in  motion,  not  a  twig  tapped  the 
windows.  Jacob's  custom  was  to  retire  after  supper 
to  his  bedroom  adjoining  the  kitchen,  with  a  quart 
of  small  ale ;  and  he  would  nace  the  floor,  weaving  his 
plots  and  muttering  his  pla  ."or  half  the  night.  At 
the  usual  time  he  crept  away  without  a  word. 

Ruth  heard  the  door  close— then  a  sound  of  scuffling, 
a  scream  which  made  her  tremble  ;  and  Jacob  stumbled 
back  with  livid  face.  A  breath  of  cold  air  came  with 
him. 

''  He  has  entered  by  the  window— lain  upon  my 
bed !  Hides  now  behind  the  clothes-press  '  "  he 
whispered  as  if  choking. 

"  Ah,  heavens !  I  had  forgot  to  close  the  wmdow  " 
murmured  Ruth,  wringing  her  hands  in  sore  distrei. 


36 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  I'll  go  there  no  more,"  gasped  Jacob.  "  Nay,  but 
the  box  beneath  my  bed— filled  with  papers,  my  mort- 
gages, my  assignments,  the  deed  of  Coinagehall,  the 
ruin  of  the  Clabars.  Ruth,  I  will  be  a  father  to  ye— 
will  find  ye  a  rich  husband,  a  man  who  fears  God  even 
as  I — will  send  you  to  fair  with  a  golden  guinea. 
Drive  away  the  evil  one,  I  implore  ye.  A  text  of 
Scripture — I  have  forgot.  Go  with  your  fingers  crossed. 
Drive  him  forth  in  the  holy  name.  My  conveyances, 
my  parchments,  and  my  guineas  !  " 

"  There  is  no  man,"  said  Ruth  calmly,  though  she 
trembled.  "  If  you  dare  not  return  alone,  walk  behini 
me.  I  fear  no  window  open  to  the  night."  Then,  as 
if  struck  by  some  memory,  she  fied  from  the  kitchen, 
bearing  a  lighted  candle,  and  ran  to  the  lawyer's  room. 

The  bed-curtains  were  drawn  back.  Some  man  had 
lately  been  lying  there ;  for  the  impression  of  his 
body,  and  imprint  of  his  head,  were  deeply  made. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  called  in  a  troubled  voice.  "  The 
man  has  been  here." 

"  My  box  1  "  cried  Jacob. 

"  Safe  and  imtouched.  He  went  away,  as  I  told 
you,  hours  ago." 

"  Ay,  but  he  will  return,"  the  attorney  muttered, 
as  he  dared  to  approach  the  room.  "  Why  did  you  not 
tell  me  he  entered  by  this  window  and  spread  himself 
upon  my  bed  ?  " 

"  I  had  forgot." 

"  He  laid  upon  my  bed  to  curse  my  slimibers — give 
me  foul  dreams.  I'll  lie  here  no  more.  Carry  my  box 
into  your  chamber.  I  will  lie  there.  You  fear  no  evil. 
Come  you  into  here  and  sleep." 

"  Gladly,"  said  Ruth.  "  But  I  cannot  lift  the  box 
unless  you  aid  me." 

Until  the  sky  was  grey  Jacob  sat,  surrounded  by 
candlelight ;  and  he  made  no  plots.  With  the  coming 
of  day  he  slept,  but  cried  out  horribly,  for  Red  Cap 
was  master  of  his  slumbers.     When  Ruth  knocked 


VISITOR  TO  COINAGEHALL 


37 


he  rose  and.  having  flung  on  his  clothes,  came  briskly 
to  the  kitchen,  a  strong  man  armed  by  sunshine. 

"  I  go  to  Mother  Gothal  for  a  spell.  With  it  I  shall 
lay  this  evil  creature/'  said  he  in  the  voice  of  confidence. 
"  When  the  wicked  dies,  the  spirit  must  wander,  seek- 
ing some  strong  and  learned  man  who  may  give  him 
rest ;  not  parson,  mind  ye,  nor  yet  whining  clerk ; 
but  the  man  of  the  law,  the  headman,  he  who  guards 
the  secrets  of  the  people.  I'll  do  it,  I  warrant.  I'll  lay 
this  Red  Cap  beneath  the  biggest  rock  upon  the  top 
of  Great  Gwentor." 

Taking  hat  and  cane,  and  drawing  a  cloak  about 
him— for  the  little  man  was  careful  of  his  health — 
Jacob  made  bnskly  for  the  outer  door,  which  Ruth 
had  left  open,  the  morning  being  bright,  the  air  soft. 
One  step  from  the  threshold  Jacob  turned.  Sunlight, 
streaming  into  the  house  and  falling  upon  part  of  the 
unused  stairway,  showed  him  footprints  dimly  out- 
lined by  the  dust. 

Jacob  advanced  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  sum- 
moned Ruth.    She  came,  and  he  stepped  aside,  admit 
ting  the  sun  as  evidence. 

"  Who  has  ascended  my  stairs  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  went  up  to  open  a  window,  where  I  sit  and  look 
out  upon  the  fields,"  she  answered. 

"  I  perceive  also  the  footprints  of  larger  shoes." 

"  May  not  the  man  have  gone  that  way  ?  " 

"  Some  mystery  is  here,"  said  the  attorney  firmly. 
"  You  have  not  told  me  all.  Did  this  vile  monster 
come  alone  ?  " 

"  I  saw  no  more  than  one." 

"  Did  see  him  climb  the  stairs  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  I  was  amazed." 

"  During  the  night  I  heard  movements,  as  of  some 
creature  passing  from  room  to  room." 

"  I  heard  the  noise  of  lats,  and  the  scufifling  of  owls." 

"  I  shall  ascend,"  said  Jacob,  mounting  the  first 
stair  fearfully. 


38  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

"  Take  care  !  "  cried  Ruth. 

"  What  mean  you  ?  There  was  terror  in  that  cry," 
he  muttered. 

"  The  rooms  are  dark." 

"  Then  you  shall  pass  up  before  me,  and  throw  back 
the  shutters." 

"  I  dare  not,"  she  murmured. 

"  I  thought  you  had  no  fear,"  he  scofted. 

"  I  fear  this  Red  Cap.  If  he  placed  a  hand  upon  me 
I  should  die  with  terror." 

"  Think  you  he  waits  in  hiding  ?  I  would  not 
trouble  him,"  said  Jacob,  shrinking  against  the  panels 
of  the  wall. 

"  Go  up  !  "  she  cried  sharply.  "  Go  up,  if  you  dare, 
and  discover  for  yourself." 

She  stepped  back  into  shadow,  her  bosom  heaving, 
her  hands  shaking  pitifully.  Jacob  faltered,  and  when 
she  put  a  hand  across  her  eyes  his  knees  failed  so  that 
he  almost  fell  upon  the  stairs. 

"  Nay,  I  have  no  spell.  I  am  not  armed  against  the 
devil,"  he  cried.  "  To-morrow  I  shall  be  prepared. 
I  will  be  master  of  my  house." 

Ruth  remained  in  the  silent  hall,  some  time  after 
Jacob  had  departed,  leaning  against  the  blackened 
woodwork  with  her  eyes  closed ;  until  the  emotion, 
and  her  thoughts  of  vengeance,  passed,  and  the  sun- 
shine became  pure  again.  Then  she  moved  like  one 
aroused  from  sleep. 

"  Thank  God  he  did  not  go  up,"  she  whispered. 
"  Had  he  done  so — ^would  they  have  spared  me  ?  " 

Still  trembling,  she  passed  into  the  garden.  It  was 
a  happy  day  of  resurrection  for  trees  and  plants,  of 
new  life  for  bees,  and  release  for  butterflies.  The 
breeze  came  balmy  from  the  sea,  scented  from  the 
woodlands  of  Bezurrel,  like  sweet  wine  from  Gwentor. 
Ruth  put  back  her  face  to  kiss  a  sunbeam,  and,  as 
her  whole  body  thrilled,  she  threw  out  her  hands, 
crying  the  one  word :  "  Spring  1  " 


CHAPTER  V 


JACOB  HEARS  GOOD  TIDINGS 

By  seeing  ghosts  men  may  win  honour  in  their  own 
community.  Caheme  the  rhinder  and  Gweek  the 
fisherman,  humble  parishioners,  became  in  a  night 
elevated  into  local  demagogues ;  a  position  which,  not 
knowing  how  to  use,  they  abused  by  a  wildness  of 
speech  and  a  staggering  gait ;  for  the  temptation  to 
crack  a  bottle  with  ghost-seers  was  not  to  be  resisted 
by  the  soberest.  Even  the  curate  neglected  to  consider 
the  hard  problem  of  providing  food  and  clothing  for 
a  wife  and  eight  children  upon  a  stipend  of  less  than 
a  guinea  weekly,  in  order  that  he  might  visit  each 
celebrity  with  breathless  questions ;  receiving  such 
answers  as  were  suggested  by  memory,  added  to 
imagination,  and  confirmed  by  liquor. 

Curate.  "It  is  reported  that  an  apparition  has 
been  seen  by  you  near  the  office  of  Mr.  Grambla. 
As  the  visit  of  this  unhappy  spirit  is  a  great  matter 
to  the  parish,  and  may  indeed  precede  some  dire  calam- 
ity, it  is  my  duty  to  obtain  from  your  lips  a  statement 
as  to  time  and  place,  together  with  a  full  description, 
so  that  I  may  prepare  a  particular  account  of  this 
portent  for  the  information  of  the  Vicar,  and  the  con- 
fusion of  those  persons  who  in  their  folly  deny  the 
resurrection  of  the  dead." 

Caherne.  "  I  saw  mun  sure  enough.  Was  outside 
the  window  at  Master  Grambla's,  and  he  stared  and 
stood,  and  I  could  see  the  wall  through  the  body  and 
clothes  of  mun.  Was  no  higher  than  a  pony — four 
feet,  I  reckon — and  when  he  walked  he  never  touched 

39 


40 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


ground,  save  'twas  a  bump  here  and  there,  as  it  might 
be  a  stone  jumping  down  hill.  And  he  wore  a  hat, 
bloody  red  'twas — ^lawyer  says  'twas  a  cap,  but  I 
swear  to  the  papist  hat — husband  o'  the  scarlet  woman 
he  be,  parson.  Never  made  a  sound  what  I  could  hear. 
Got  littler  and  littler  till  he  wam't  no  more  than  a  dot ; 
what  jumped  about  as  'twas  a  fly,  and  went  out  sudden 
like." 

Gweek.  "  I  saw  mun  going  down  Moyle  town,  to- 
wards churchyard,  just  after  the  sim  went,  and  the  air 
was  misty  like.  He  looked  solid  then,  and  the  same 
as  living  folk.  He  was  small  at  first,  no  bigger  than  a 
little  child,  but  he  got  bigger  and  taller  while  he  went 
along,  till  he  got  such  a  monstrous  size  I  couldn't  see 
nought  else  for  ghost.  And  he  moved  heavy,  and 
dragged  himself  along  so  slow  he  seemed  in  mortal 
pain  ;  and  as  he  went  he  breathed  out  fire  and  smoke, 
that  I  went  faint  to  see  mim.  He  wore  red  clothes 
and  a  little  yellow  cap — ^yellow  I  knows  'twas,  a  sort 
o'  sandy  yellow — and  he  made  fearful  noises — ^bellowed 
like  a  bull  'a  did — ^but  I  heard  no  talk  what  I  could 
sense.  He  got  bigger,  till  his  head  went  right  into  a 
monstrous  great  black  cloud  along  the  tucking  field, 
and  he  went  on  blowing  fire,  and  roaring,  and  he 
reached  out  a  great  foot  as  though  to  kick  me  ofE 
the  land,  and  I  fell  on  my  knees,  that  faint  and  tremb- 
ling, and  I  knew  no  more.  And  God's  my  witness, 
parson,  that's  the  truth." 

The  curate's  knowledge  of  Greek,  Latin,  and  the 
Fathers  assisted  him  not  at  all  to  reconcile  these 
statements.  Parishioners  in  general  accepted  the  story 
which  each  individual  fancy  had  evolved  after  hearing 
the  versions  of  Caheme  and  Gweek.  Nobody  could 
swear  to  a  personal  adventure  with  a  spirit ;  yet  all 
knew  others  who  had  been  affrighted  by  some  visitation. 

When  Jacob  Grambla  beheld  a  knot  of  gossips 
assembled  upon  the  street,  cunning  mind  conquered 
trembling  body.    "  'Tis  an  ill  day  for  master  when 


JACOB  HEARS  GOOD  TIDINGS  41 

servants  find  him  whipped,"  said  the  mind.  Then  he 
joined  the  people,  giving  each  one  a  welcome,  and 
inquired  it  anything  was  amiss. 

"The  ghost,  master !  The  ghost ! "  cried  several  voices. 

"  For  shame,  neighbours  !  Shame  upon  ye  to  stand 
idle  when  the  sun  calls  ye  to  the  fields,"  cried  Jacob. 
"  Seek  for  ghost  upon  All  Hallows.  Tell  of  them  on 
Christmas  Eve.  What  is  a  ghost,  neighbours?  A 
phantom  of  the  dead,  as  ye  know ;  and  the  dead  are 
more  in  number  than  the  sand  of  the  shore.  If  it  be 
true  they  watch  over  us,  then  are  we  visible  to  them. 
Why  then  should  they  not  appear  before  our  eyes  ? 
The  man  who  sees  a  ghost  may  call  himself  happy, 
for  part  of  the  mystery  of  heaven  i?  ^  .\.  ^'"'  to  him." 

"The  man's  an  angel  when  h  .  heaven, 

master.  A  ghost,  I  warrant,  is  nearer  10  the  devil," 
said  an  old  man  shrewdly. 

"  I'll  hear  no  blasphemy,"  said  Jacob  sharply.  "  The 
man  who  sees  a  phantom  receives  a  blessing.  A  ghost 
comes  to  warn  us  our  time  is  short — ^there's  a  blessing  I 
He  comes  to  assure  us  of  a  future  state — ^there's  a 
blessing !  And  he  comes  to  seek  a  blessing  for  himself. 
This  Red  Cap,  neighbours " 

"  Did  ye  speak  with  him,  master  ?  " 

"  Ay,  I  showed  him  no  fear ;  for  when  a  man, 
mark  you,  shows  terror  for  a  phantom,  his  heart  is 
not  right — ^he  does  not  love  his  fellow-creatures.  I 
put  my  head  out  from  the  window,  and  inquired  his 
name  and  business.  He  did  not  tell  his  name ;  per- 
chance he  has  forgot  it.  He  groaned,  neighbours,  and 
said  he  found  no  rest ;  for  he  had  been  murdered,  and 
the  man  who  killed  him  lives  unpunished — ^in  this 
parish  and  church-town  of  Moyle." 
^  A  murmuring  went  up  from  his  listeners,  who  by 
now  occupied  the  whole  width  of  the  street. 

"  Neighbours,"  continued  the  triumphant  Jacob, 
"  to  whom  should  this  poor  spirit  come  but  to  the 
attorney  at  the  law  of  Moyle  ?  " 


42 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  There  ha'  never  been  seen  the  like  o'  mun  in  town 
or  country,"  cried  the  old  man  who  knew  history. 

"  He  was  a  sailor,  wrecked  and  cast  ashore ;  and 
his  belt  was  well  lined  with  guineas.  His  murderer 
cast  the  body  back  to  sea,  and  'twas  beaten  to  shreds 
against  the  rocks.  Get  you  to  your  duties,  neigh- 
bours," cried  the  attorney  with  a  wave  of  the  hand. 
"  And  forget  not  to  pray  that  the  parish  be  not  cursed 
for  one  man's  sin." 

"  Who  is  the  man  ?  "  cried  some  ;  but  many  were 
silent,  for  they  had  memories  of  wild  nights  and 
wrecking. 

"  Nay,  friends,  am  I  not  a  man  of  Moyle,  a  parish- 
ioner, and  one  of  yourselves  ?  "  Jacob  answered  with 
a  smile ;  winning  the  innocent  by  his  loyalty,  and 
the  guilty  by  his  silence.  "  I  guard  the  secret  until 
this  man  turns  against  me.  He  is  not  Caheme,  nor 
yet  Gweek.  I  know  the  murderer  well,  I  see  him  each 
day — he  is  not  among  you  now.  He  is,  I  doubt,  a 
worthless  fellow.  I  go  now  to  the  labours  of  the  day 
— ^and  you  have  yours." 

But  none  came  upon  business  that  morning,  although 
the  curate  came  for  profit ;  being  minded  to  write  a 
volume  dealing  with  Cornish  apparitions,  which  were 
numerous,  and  to  carry  the  manuscript  to  booksellers 
of  London ;  and  the  curate  had  a  tedious  length  of 
sentence.  After  his  departure  Jacob  stepped  out,  for 
the  street  by  now  was  empty,  locked  his  door,  then 
went  by  the  stony  track  ascending  Poldrifty  and  lead- 
ing to  the  hovel  of  the  witch. 

"  You'm  haunte.-, '  said  Mother  Gothal  with  a 
chuckle,  which  the  attorney  attributed  to  professional 
satisfaction  of  having  a  case  in  hand.  "  I  ha'  heard 
the  tale.  What  Moyle  be  telling  I  know.  And  I  know 
what  Moyle  don't.  I  see  whist  things  up  here,  master 
—I  see  little  folk  and  black  dogs,  and  brindled  cats  wi' 
tails  like  trees.  As  for  ghostes,  I  take  no  notice  o' 
they  'cept  to  brush  'em  off.    They'm  often  thick  as 


JACOB  HEARS  GOOD  TIDINGS 


43 


flics.  You  won't  get  away  from  Red  Cap,  master. 
Bless  ye  I  Iknows  old  Red  Cap.  One  of  the  artfullest, 
he  be." 

"  Give  me  a  spell,  Mammy.  Tell  me  how  to  lay  him," 
implored  Jacob,  cunning  man  of  the  world  no  longer. 

"  I'll  do  the  best  I  can,  master ;  but  Red  Cap  ain't 
one  of  the  ordinary.  He  be  what  us  calls  one  of  the 
Devil's  Beauties.  He  won't  go  for  my  spells,  nor  for 
your  textes  neither.  Takes  a  learned  man  to  lay  he- 
one  from  Oxford,  master,  who  knows  the  black-letter ; 
or  one  from  the  East.  A  black  gentleman  from  Arabia 
would  lay  him,  I  warrant,  and  send  him  to  the  Red 
Sea  for  ever  and  ever.  Sir  Thomas  would  lay  Red 
Cap  m  his  snuff-box,  and  take  no  time  over  it  neither ; 
but  he's  a  mighty  magician,  while  I  be  nought  but  a 
poor  witch  body." 

"  He  has  been  to  Coinagehall — lain  upon  my  bed — 
ascended  my  stairs.  I  dare  not  sleep  iu  my  own  house." 

"  Red  Cap  be  a  fearful  lad,  master.  I  knows  'en 
well.  I  can't  do  nought  save  give  you  a  brew  to  set 
upon  the  doorstep.  If  he  drinks  my  broth,  he'll  have 
to  go,  whether  he  wants  to  or  no.  I'll  give  ye 
magic  bottle  to  set  aside  the  brew ;  for  when  he  ha. 
drunk,  he  must  go  into  the  first  thing  handy,  and  that 
will  be  my  bottle.  Then  you  must  cork  'en  m  tight, 
and  bring  me  the  bottle  wi'  the  old  lad  inside  mun. 
But  harkye,  master !  Do  ye  know  what  Red  Cap 
wants  with  ye  ?    Have  ye  spoke  to  the  old  lad  ?  " 

"  The  sight  of  him  dries  my  tongue.  Would  you 
have  me  speak  to  him  ?  " 

"  Surely,  master.  How  do  us  know  he  ain't  been 
sent  to  tell  ye  something  good  ?  "  whispered  the  old 
woman  in  an  artful  fashion. 

"  By  heaven  !  I  never  thought  of  that,"  cried  Jacob. 

"  You  speak  to  'en,  master.  There  be  as  many 
different  sorts  o'  ghostes  as  there  be  o'  folkses.  Some 
be  good,  and  some  be  bad.  One  lot  o'  ghostes  tries  to 
hurt  a  man,  and  another  lot  does  their  best  vj  help 


44 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


him.  When  I  hear  the  tale  I  says  to  myself.  This 
may  be  a  mighty  bit  o'  luck  for  master.'  " 

"  Go  on,  Mammy  dear.   Go  on  !  "  gasped  the  lawyer. 

"  This  Red  Cap,  master,  be  wonderful  well  known 
to  us  quality  witches.  He'm  a  mischievous  lad  some- 
times, and  terrible  hard  to  shake  off,  but  he  ain't  always 
naughty.  He'm  like  mortals,  wi'  virtues  as  well  as  vices. 
He  be  one  o'  the  sort  we  know  as  money  ghostes." 

"  Get  to  the  end,  Mammy.    A  money  ghost !  You 

said  money  ?  "  .       ,  „  xv 

"  Us  knows  'en  by  the  red  cap,"  contmued  Mother 
Gothal.  "  That  be  the  sure  sign  of  a  money  ghost. 
They  comes  to  poor  gentlemen,  what  be  worthy,  and 
tells  'em  of  gold  hidden  m  some  place,  of  treasure  in 

the  ground " 

"  Heavf:i  and  heU  1 "  broke  in  the  lawyer  wildly. 
"  You  would  fool  me— nay,  you  dare  not.  Say  the 
words  agam,  my  beautiful  Mammy— gold  hidden  in 
some  place !  You  know  everything.  You  know  I 
am  poor  and— before  God— honest.  Treasure  in  the 
ground  1  I'll  build  you  a  house,  buy  you  a  silk  gown. 
May  Red  Cap  come  to-night  I  I'll  speak  to  him.  I  want 
no  brew  to  drive  away  good  angels.  I  shall  swallow  a 
bumper  of  brandy,  and  so  win  courage.  Gold  in  the 
groimd !    I  would  dig  up  Poldrifty  Downs  to  find  it." 

Mother  Gothal  sat  at  the  door  of  her  miserable  home 
and  laughed  ;  while  Jacob  scurried  down  the  trackway 
between  golden  furze-bushes  which  smelt  to  him  of 

guineas. 

"  Aw,  run,  my  tawny-faced  one,  to  thy  ruin  I "  she 
chuckled.  "  You  come  to  me,  learned  man  of  Moyle, 
to  the  wise  woman  who  knows  not  the  letters  of  the 
alphabet.  A  ghost  is  an  evil  conscience,  Jacob  Gram- 
bla.  Eh,  eh  !  the  lone  old  woman  body  with  a  beard 
must  take  to  witchery  for  a  living,  I  warrant  my 
tawny-faced  one  would  be  running  t'other  way,  had 
any  one  told  'en  how  I  love  the  Clabars— had  any  one 
told  'en  Sir  Thomas  Just  was  with  me  yesterday." 


CHAPTER  VI 

CHERRY  COMES  TO  HER  FATHER'S  COTTAGE 

John  Clabar  arose  at  the  usual  time,  but  his  mind 
was  not  fully  awake,  and  he  started  when  sounds 
came  up  from  the  living-room.  A  bitter  taste  of 
dreams  remained,  making  new  happiness  short  of 
memory.  The  scene  was  poverty ;  before  him  lay 
homelessness ;  behind  lurked  the  savage  shape  of 
the  attorney.  Yet  the  sunshine,  and  that  glad  voice 
singing  I 

He  opened  the  door  and  called,  "  Cherry  I  " 

"  Father  !  "  came  the  answer. 

"  I  have  been  starved,"  Clabar  murmured.  "  That 
one  word  feeds  me — the  name  I  have  never  heard 
before  though  I  grow  old."  Then  he  called,  "  I  bade 
you  lie  until  I  came  to  you." 

"  Thoughts  would  not  let  me  stay  abed— nor  would 
my  duty.    When  was  a  woman  last  in  here  ?  " 

The  man  could  not  answer;  for  her  mother  had 
been  the  last  to  keep  his  home  tidy,  and  she  had  died 
before  many  of  the  oaks  around  had  burst  from  acorns. 
He  dressed,  descended  the  few  stairs,  and  held  out  his 
arms  with  the  cry,  "  Cherry,  my  child  !  " 

They  embraced  and  were  tender  to  each  other. 
Had  Toby  Penrice  been  at  his  game  of  spying,  he 
must  have  ridiculed,  supposing  he  had  seen  two  men 
in  love ;  for  there  was  little  of  the  woman  about 
Cherry  save  her  heart. 

"  Child  !  "  she  cried  merriiy.  "  A  child  far  broader 
than  yourself.    A  child  who  could  sling  you  upon  her 

4S 


46 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


back  and  carry  you  a  mile.    A  child  who  will  knock 
down  your  enemies.    There's  a  child  indeed  I  " 

"  A  fond  and  foolish  word,"  said  Clabar.  "  I  must 
now  accustom  my  tongue  to  another." 

"  Peter,  sir,"  said  she  with  a  bow.  "  Peter,  the 
sailor  lad,  who  can  use  hands  or  feet  against  any  man 
in  Moyle.  Who  can  carry  a  sack  of  com  to  the  top 
of  Gwentor,  sir.  Who  can  sweep  a  room  and  bake 
bread,  sir.  Who  can  fan  himself,  and  patch  his  face, 
and  prove  a  mighty  fine  lady  too,  sir.  Young  Peter, 
who  b  proud  of  his  name  and  father,  who  has  sworn, 
moreover,  by  the  Mass  to  whip  the  scoundrel  Grambla, 
with  his  sister  Cherry — twins  in  one  body — salute 
you,  sir." 

"  This  will  not  do,"  said  Clabar  seriously.  "  I 
call  you  Cherry  no  longer.  'Twas  your  mother's 
name  for  her  unborn  child.  June  it  was  when  we 
declared  our  passion  in  an  orchard.  Cherries  were 
hanging  from  the  trees,  and  to  these  she  pointed, 
saying,  '  Is  not  the  love  of  two  hearts  like  berries  on 
one  stem — two  bodies  joined  together  in  one  growth  ? ' 
And  in  the  dark  hour  following  your  birth  she  whis- 
pered, 'This  is  my  fruit — my  Cherry — and  it  kills 
the  tree.'    The  name  of  Peter  does  not  fit  my  tongue." 

"  If  you  cannot  regard  me  as  son,"  she  said  ;  then 
laughed  and  added,  "  I  have  no  other  clothes." 

"  The  plot  is  fixed,"  said  Clabar.  "It  is  known 
I  have  received  my  son.  Our  enemy  cannot  learn 
the  truth,  for  only  Mother  Gothal  was  present  at 
your  birth,  and  she  is  true  to  us ;  nor  were  you 
christened  here.  We  are  the  last  of  the  Clabars, 
the  only  flaw  in  Grambla's  title  to  our  home.  He 
fears  no  woman,  however  strong.  He  knows  of  a 
himdred  ways  to  ruin  women  ;  but  a  man  may  with- 
stand his  bitter  heart  and  lying  tongue.  A  maid  must 
be  always  weak  because  her  honour  is  open  to  attack  ; 
even  upon  slight  suspicion  both  Church  and  law 
will  torture  her — force  her  to  end  her  life,  or  drive 


COMES  TO  HER  FATHER'S  COTTAGE    47 

her  from  the  place.  But  a  man,  it  seems,  may  rise 
in  the  good  opinion  of  his  fellows  by  offending.  A 
man  causes  a  maid  to  stumble — that  is  gallantry. 
The  maiden  tempts  a  man,  and  that's  a  crime." 

"  Can  you  find  anything  of  the  maiden  here  ?  Do 
you  not  behold  a  pretty  fellow  ?  " 

"  Your  golden  curls,  and  a  certain  way  of  speak- 
ing  " 

"  If  I  am  betrayed  my  head  will  do  it.  But  I  can 
speak  as  hoarsely  as  a  drunkard.  I  passed  among 
the  sailors  of  Dock,  and  none  suspected  me — and 
saucy  chambermaids  would  kiss  their  hands  to  me. 
Had  I  told  them  I  was  a  maid,  none  would  have  be- 
lieved me  because  of  my  strength.  Beauty  is  good, 
but  strength  is  far  better.  Yesterday  there  was  one 
man  of  Moyle,  to-day  there  are  two." 

With  this  proud  boast  she  went  on  sweeping ;  but 
Clabar  chided  her,  for  it  seemed  to  him  she  meant 
to  clean  the  ot  too  thoroughly  ;  and  indeed  the  work 
[was  needed.  Twenty  years  of  a  man's  housekeeping 
jhad  proved  the  Satumian  age  for  mice  and  spiders. 
I  "  Presently  I  shall  tell  you  my  reason.  First  let 
lus  breakfast,"  said  he  in  a  somewhat  respectful 
imanner. 

Taking  a  brown  jug  from  the  dresser,  Clabar  was 
aaking  for  the  lean-to  where  stood  the  cask  of  ale, 
i^hen  Cherry  called  him  back  and  invited  him  to 
consider  a  pan  of  water  near  boiling  on  the  hearth. 

"  What  would  you  do  with  hot  water  ?  "  asked 
the  puzzled  man. 

"  This  packet,"  she  said,  "  was  given  me  by  a  sailor 

vho  had  been  round  the  world.     He  gave  one  half 

to  his  mother,  and  the  other  to  me,  because  I  had 

taught  him  the  letters— as  Cherry.     He  would  not 

•lave  bestowed  the  gift  on  Peter.    It  is  the  Chinese  leaf 

i^hich  people  of  quality  now  diink  in  the  morning." 

"  Is  it  not  what  they  call  tea  ?  "  asked  Clabar, 

liffing  at  the  contents  of  the  packet. 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


..  y„,  »d  'tis  ""rtJL"' ^TtoeW  'ti^  told.    Sir 
••  Ladv  Tust  uses  the  leat  largeiy,  *  •**» 

roS ^?.l^  »X»a:  »ia  to  taste  very 
well  with  meat.       _^.  .  _.  •_  Movie  ?  "  she  cried. 

..;»D*Scrd"^yJcrhrp^?reat  .^.  ^ 

they  are  to  be  »»»«l'75p'(^'j!tPji    sir  Thomas  has 

"Pish I"   she  laughed.       .^rtLe  the  brew, 
gift  of  the  devU.    And  now.  father,  taste  tne 
whUe  I  broU  these  herring.  countenance, 

Clabar  sipped  at  the  tea  with  a  wry  ^.u 

then  shook'his  ^^-d  in,  ^^^^S^aU^his  is  bitter  stuff. 
"  Nay,  give  me  ale,    ne  saw.  , 

^^h^r  Cga^.j^^the  E„^»  Xi 
have  his  beer.    Good  ale  is  the  omy  ^^  ^^^ 

people.    This  tea.  I  ^^^.^;,^^  ^"'d?^emiess-in 
Eastern   vices-a  .f^^  J^^^S^y  d^^      who  cannot 
favour  therefore  with  '^'^r^^f^^lJ'^  Without  some 
be  aroused  to  the  pleasures  of  the  day  ^ 
cordial.    Nay.  Cheery  honest  co^jt^^^^^^^         ^^^^ 

l^ee'^^^SJ  Jt^r^tStidoV^d  letls  start  the 

day  in  English  ^^^^^        ^^  breakfast,  and  Cherry 
They  seated  themselves  X  ^^^  ^^^^  ^^ 

5"^^  ^n'LwV  b.^  S  d.t^^^  her  with  the 
SSer?^''"^>-  each  a  histor^  .f  twenty  yea. 
to  tell  and  hear." 


COMES  TO  HER  FATHER'S  COTTAGE     49 

"  Mine  is  half  twenty,"  replied  Cheny. 

Yet  her  record  was  by  far  the  longest,  for  the  daugh- 
ter had  done  more  in  one  month  tlum  her  lather  in  a 
year.  Cherry  spoke  of  adventures  by  land  and  sea, 
of  fighting  and  free  ways  of  living,  more  like  a  young 
roisterer  of  the  town  than  a  modest  maiden;  but 
through  all  her  narrative  was  sounded  the  two  clear 
notes  of  the  struggle  to  educate  her  mind  and  her 
devotion  for  the  Catholic  religion.  While  Clabar  had 
only  to  tell  of  days  in  the  lawyer's  office,  and  years 
of  lonely  nights,  with  such  matters  of  family  history 
as  he  thought  the  girl  should  know. 
^  "  I  am  sorry  you  are  papist,"  he  said  at  length. 
"  Yet  I  know  not.  Sir  Thomas  may  on  that  account 
show  you  some  kindness." 

"  What  manner  of  gentleman  is  he  ?  "  she  asked 
with  much  anxiety. 

"  A  mystic,"  said  Clabar,  lowering  his  voice. 
A  magician  ? 

"  A  wonderful  enchanter.  'Tis  true  he  is  English, 
though  to  us  he  more  nearly  resembles  an  Eastern  sage. 
He  has  dwelt  in  the  East— I  know  not  where— acquiring 
the  magic  of  the  country.  Upon  succeeding  to  the 
title  he  came  here,  it  being  his  father's  wish  that  he 
should  occupy  Bezurrel.  His  lady  has  no  liking  for 
the  place." 

•'  Is  she  English  ?  " 

"  Ther^  j  nothing  of  England  in  her  except  pride. 
'Tis  said  ;ie  is  of  gipsy  blood.  She  has  beauty,  but 
nokind.  jss.  Sir  Thomas  and  his  lady  are  alike  ;  both 
stem  and  cold.  They  tell  the  future  from  the  stars, 
call  up  storms,  hold  converse  with  the  dead.  The  old 
baronet  was  confined  at  the  last,  and  died  like  a  beast 
which  has  no  understanding.  Thesonmayend  likewise." 

"Father,  are  not  these  stories  told  because  Sir 
Thomas  is  a  papist  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Clabar.  "  Bezurrel  is  a  house 
of  secrets,  ?jid  not  one  leaks  out,  for  the  servants  are 


MCYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

University  of  Oxford." 
•'  Are  they  ^^^"^l^J^^L  have  seen  '  oti'  i^ssing 

here  and  discuss  them?  ,^d_  ■  ^    j 

••  I  like  the  name  ;  '' °^  *  P^?r_y  idad  iticnd 
Cherry.    "  And  I  do  ^"^^^'^^^^l^  before  Sir 
oi  the  i™  P""^^l^^  WUchshallbemyfirst 
Thomas.  Now  for  tt»P'^\'/;t,^  be  the  whipping 
labour?   Give  me  *««to^^; ^*  ^XnagehaU.*^ 
ol  old  Grambla  bom  M°y'? '*''"  threaten-lay  not  a 
•'  Cherry.  I  Pr^V  V^^  toptod  to  father?^  "  He 
finger  upon  the  man,    ^P^^^  ^o^e  creature  ol 
may  set  a  spy  T?^"*;^7"i^  hour  ago  I  forbade 
his  may  listen  at  the  "loor.    An^™     ^to  Grambla. 

you  to  d«».'^ '""^elineL^^^next  week  we 

"^^i:  yttoJ^'^^eive,  chad,  we  shall  soon  be  home- 

"^  xl^re's  many  a  worse  fate  than  s^e^ingm  the  ai. 
The  homeless  iolk  are  often  the  mgt  n-p^^  ^ 


COBfES  TO  HER  FATHER'S  COTTAGE      51 

needful.  My  breeches  have  pockets  large  enou^,  bnt 
they  are  empty.  My  head  is  full.  If  strength  were 
guineas  we  might  live  in  ease." 

"  I  have  saved  a  guinea  every  month,"  said  Clabar. 

"  Twenty  times  twelve  guineas  I "  cried  Cherry 
with  vast  excitement.  "  Here  is  wealth  with  freedom  I 
But  where  is  all  this  money  ?  " 

"  Beneath  the  flooring  of  my  bedroom." 

"  It  must  out  from  there.  I  may  not  know  Gram- 
bla,  but  I  have  some  knowledge  of  his  nature.  He 
will  suppose  you  have  saved,  for  he  knows  how  meanly 
you  have  lived.  He  may  rob  you  while  we  are  atooadf. 
Listen,  father  1  Presently  we  go  out,  and  I  shall  make 
a  parcel  of  your  guineas  and  carry  them  imtil  we  find 
a  home.  To-morrow  I  wait  upon  Sir  Thomas,  and  you 
attend  me." 

"  Nay,  child,"  cried  Clabar.  "  Sir  Thomas  has  never 
taken  notice  of  me." 

"  He  shall  take  notice  of  your  daughter,  yet  remain 
unconscious  of  the  honour  while  welcoming  your 
son." 

"  Neither  man  nor  woman  of  Moyle  church-town  is 
welcomed  to  Bezurrel." 

"Precedent  is  against  us;  therefore  we  banish 
precedent.    To  be  repulsed  will  not  harm  us." 

"  I  have  some  pride  remaining.  The  fields  of  Coin- 
agehall  reach  to  Bezurrel  Woods.  The  yeomen 
Clabars  were  friends  once  of  the  titled  Justs.  I  will 
not  go." 

"  Father,"  said  the  young  athlete  calmly.  "  You 
shall  go." 

The  man  would  have  wasted  more  breath  in  his 
resistance,  had  not  the  sound  of  voices  filled  the  room. 
He  advanced  to  the  window,  and  soon  two  parties  of 
parishioners  came  along,  shouting  at  each  other. 
Clabar  listened  to  the  high-pitched  dialect,  whik 
amazement  grew  upon  his  face.  Then  he  said  to  his 
daughter,  "Since  Grambla  dismissed  me  from  his 


-f1' 

f 


52  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

service  I  have  not  left  this  house ;  and  now  there  has 
something  happened  I  must  hear  of." 

He  passed  out  into  the  street  and  called  the  men, 
who  thereupon  gathered  round  him,  each  eager  to 
tell  his  tale  and  make  it  long  ;  so  that  many  minut^ 
passed  before  Clabar  rejoined  his  daughter  to  add 
his  wondering  words  towards  the  ghostly  snowbaU  : 

"  A  phantom  has  appeared  in  Moyle— a  most  fearful 
apparition !  It  has  been  seen  in  the  churchyard,  at 
Coinagehall,  within  Grambla's  office.  It  has  passed 
along  the  street  of  Moyle,  driving  the  folk  into  theu" 
houses  by  breathing  fire  upon  their  faces.  It  has  an- 
nounced a  great  pestilence— an  invasion  of  the  French 
—I  know  not  what.  It  has  denounced  at  least  a 
dozen  men  by  name  for  thieves  and  murderers  ;  and 
has  sworn  to  haunt  this  place  till  the  villains  are  aU 
hanged.  Two  men,  it  is  said,  have  been  a^eady 
deprived  of  reason;  one  woman,  touched  by  the 
creature,  now  lies  at  death's  door.  It  wears  a  yellow 
robe— the  sign  of  pestUence  ;  and  spotted  with  blood 
—a  token  of  war.    It  walks  at  twilight." 

"  A  ghost !  "  cried  Cherry.    "  Well,  I  would  behold 
a  creature  so  much  talked  of,  but  so  seldom  seen." 

"  This  is  surely  the  work  of  Sir  Thomas  and  his 

lady."  .  ,   t-'i    i  1 »» 

"  Why  must  they  terrify  the  mhabitants  i 
"  They  who  practise  the  black  art  must  abide  by 
the  consequences,"  said  Clabar  solemnly.  "The 
prophets  of  old  were  holy,  yet  they  foretold  nothing 
but  evU.  Sir  Thomas  and  his  lady  summon  spmts 
from  the  dead ;  but  they  may  not  bring  the  souls  of 
the  righteous  back  to  earth.  The  wicked  alone  may 
answer  to  their  call." 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  you  were  never  brought  up 
to  the  ways  of  the  counting-house." 
"  What  is  your  meaning  ?  "  he  asked  impatiently. 
"  The  man  of  business  keeps  a  book,  in  which  he 
places  upon  one  side  the  money  he  receives,  and  upon 


COMES  TO  HER  FATHER'S  COTTAGE      53 

the  other  what  sums  he  pays  out.  But  the  money  he 
receives  is  not  altogether  profit,  for  he  must  deduct 
the  sums  he  pays  out ;  and  when  he  has  done  that  he 
may  find  no  profit  remaining.  When  you  are  told  a 
strange  story,  you  shall  place  upon  one  side  all  that 
your  reason  accepts,  and  upon  the  other  what  it 
rejects ;  and  by  deducting  one  from  the  other  you 
eliminate  details  and  obtain  the  truth.  And  if  there 
should  be  no  remainder,  you  may  know  the  whole 
story  to  be  false.  A  ghost  has  been  seen  in  Moyle. 
Well,  that  is  possible  :  reason  accepts  a  ghost.  It  has 
appeared  in  the  churchyard,  which  is  indeed  a  likely 
place;  also  at  Coinagehall  and  within  Grambla's 
office.  If  a  ghost  be  seen  in  one  place,  imagination 
will  cause  it  to  appear  in  twenty  places.  We  may 
however  write  down  Coinagehall  and  Grambla's  office 
upon  the  credit  side  of  reason ;  for  these  two  places 
have  a  clear  connection.  The  rest  we  may  debit.  A 
sailor  who  has  gone  round  the  world  cannot  tell  his 
story  without  detail;  neither  will  the  countryman 
who  has  seen  a  ghost.  The  story  may  be  true,  but 
not  the  details ;  for  the  story  proceeds  from  his 
memory,  and  the  details  from  his  fancy." 

"You  confound  me  with  your  learning,"  Clabar 
muttered,  rubbing  his  simple  head. 

"  Ah,  father,  a  town  life  sharpens  wit.  I  do  not  see 
the  hand  of  Sir  Thomas  here,  but  I  can  suspect  the 
cunning  mind  of  Grambla.  If  a  man  can  raise  spirits, 
which  I  believe  is  possible,  who  could  do  it  better  than 
a  vile  attorney  ?  He  knows  of  my  coming.  He  there- 
fore invokes  the  aid  of  the  devil  against  me.  One 
thing  he  does  not  know,"  she  continued,  producing 
a  small  crucifix.  "  I  am  safe  from  every  power  of 
evil,  by  day,  by  twilight,  and  by  night." 

"There  may  be  truth  in  what  you  say,"  Clabar 
admitted.  "  Yet  I  have  doubts.  No  man  b  more 
terrified  by  the  night  than  Grambla ;  I  have  walked 
behind,  and  heard  him  scream  like  a  woman  when  a 


54  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

bramWe  has  caught  his  cloak.  I  wiU  learn  mOTC  of  this 
matter.  Mother  Gothal  will  inform  me ;  and  she  wdl 
be  here  to-day,  for  she  longs  to  see  you.  If  Grambla 
be  haunted  by  this  apparition,  he  will  not  rest  tm  he 
has  gone  to  her.  If  he  has  raised  this  spint  he  does 
not  need  her.    Thus  we  shall  know." 

"  Let's  talk  of  graves  no  longer.  We  are  for  long 
life  and  happiness  I  "  cried  Cherry.  "  Take  me  to  your 
room,  and  produce  this  hoard  of  guineas  ;  for  I  would 
count  them  to  make  sure  none  be  missmg.  See,  father, 
the  day  is  glorious  I  We  will  walk  together— to  Com- 

^"Yoii   are   beside   yourself,   child,"   said   Clabar 
sharply.    "  Should  we  be  seen  trespassing  upon  the 

land  stolen  by  Grambla  from  my  father- " 

"  But  we  shall  not  be  seen.  Where  all  men  tear  to 
tread,  the  trespasser  is  safe.  Grambla  sits  in  his  laur 
spinning  conveyances.  His  only  servant  is  the  poor 
maid  Ruth.  Should  she  spy  John  Clabar  and  his 
daughter— then,  by  my  soul,  John  Clabar  s  son  shaU 

kneel  before  her."  u-  u  t  1,0,1 

"  You  preach  the  gospel  of  courage,  which  I  had 
come  near  forgetting."  said  Clabar,  strivmg  to  hft 
and  straighten  his  bowed  shoulders.  I  foDow  you 
to  my  father's  house,  my  golden  Cherry. 

"Plain  Peter,"  she  corrected,  pinchmg  his  arm 
lightly  "  The  sailor  lad  from  Devon  side  of  Tamar. 
You  find  no  cherries  in  the  month  of  March.  Call 
Peter,"  she  whispered,  "  and  he  shall  answer  with  a 

daughter's  love."  ,   .    ^    ,.     v    -j 

They  were  upstairs,  warming  their  bodies  beside  a 

heap  of  dingy  guineas,  when  a  great  knockmg  fell  upon 

the  door.   Cherry  covered  and  concealed  the  treasure  ; 

her  father  hurried  to  the  lattice  window ;  while  the 

pounding  of  fists  upon  the  door  went  on. 
"  'Tis  Mother  Gothal,"  cried  Clabar,  much  reheved. 

"  I  feared  it  might  be  some  officer  of  Justice  and  the 

law." 


COMES  TO  HER  FATHER'S  COTTAGE     55 

"  There  you  are  wrong,"  said  Cherry.  "  For  law  is 
to  justice  as  darkness  is  to  light.  When  I  have  counted 
and  secured  these  guineas  I  will  come  down  to  you," 
she  called  as  he  departed. 

"  Where's  the  maid  ?  "  cried  Mother  Gothal,  while 
the  door  was  yet  opening.  "  Where's  the  little  cherry- 
ripe  lady  I  brought  into  this  sinful  world,  and  dangled 
in  my  arms — do  ye  mind  that  night,  John  Clabar 
Squire ;  tb "  wind  and  the  rain,  and  the  lanterns  on 
the  cliff  ?  Shut  the  door  close,  do  ye.  I  be  afeard  o' 
Master  Grambla  and  his  ways.  I  come  across  the 
fields.  Mr,  my  dear  gentleman,  bring  me  a  cup  of  ale. 
I  was  stugged  to  the  knees  in  mire,  and  I  be  choked 
wi'  March  dust — a  good  thing,  they  says,  but  bad  to 
stomach — ^and  my  old  heart  be  to  the  gallop  like  a 
runaway  horse.  Where  be  my  dear  maid?  They 
calls  me  a  witch.  Squire  Clabar.  They  says  I  ri(te 
over  Poldrifty  Downs  across  a  bit  o'  crooked  furze 
stick.  Stars  o'  heaven,  I'd  like  to  sense  that  trade. 
I  wouldn't  walk  to  Moyle  if  I  could  fly.  Draw  the  worst 
ale.  Squire  dear.    I  be  so  dry  wi'  dust  I  ha'  no  taste." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  come.  Mother,"  said  Clabar, 
returning  with  the  ale.  "  I  have  a  question  to  ask 
about  the  ghost." 

"  Ah,  ah  I "  gasped  the  old  woman  as  she  drank. 
"  I'll  talk  no  ghostes  nor  yet  GramUas.  I'U  say  nought 
till  I  ha'  seen  the  maid.  I  brought  her  into  the  world, 
mind  ye.  Her  would  never  ha'  lived  without  the  old 
witch  body.  But  I  wam't  old  then.  I  was  a  lusty 
woman,  I  says,  and  a  fine-looking  woman,  and  I  lived 
in  a  cottage  wi'  two  floors,  and  I  had  a  feather  bed, 
and  a  dre^r  full  o'  cloam.  Squire  Clabar.  I  ha'  lived 
to  see  the  maid  come  home,  and,  please  the  good  Lord, 
I'll  live  to  a  better  day,  and  see  her  and  you  back  in 
your  own  place " 

"Are  you  not  still  talking?"  Clabar  broke  in, 
extending  his  hand  (ar  the  empty  cup.  "  Ah,  the 
young  gentleman  comes  I  " 


56 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  The  young  gentleman  I  "  cried  Mother  Gothal. 

"  My  son— young  Peter !  " 

The  old  woman  rose  in  a  fluster.  She  bowed  to  the 
mighty  youth ;  she  stared  at  the  stalwart  shoulders ; 
then  she  started  forward  with  the  cry.  "  My  dear,  I 
know  ye !  I  would  never  ha'  known  your  father's 
son,  but  I  know  your  mother's  daughter." 

And  the  old  soul  wept  over  Cherry's  hand  and  kissed 

"Sit  down.  Mother,"  said  Clabar,  "and  Cherry 
shall  inform  you  how  she  has  added  the  strength  of 
a  man  to  a  maiden's  comeliness." 

"  I'll  take  no  rest,  and  drink  no  ale,  till  I  ha'  returned 
thanks  to  the  Lord  Ahnighty  for  this  great  miracle. 
No  such  thing  has  ever  come  to  pass  since  folk  were 
made— a  man  and  maiden  two  in  one  1  'Tis  brave 
magic,  I  tell  ye.  'Tis  the  holy  magic  o'  the  Lord,  who 
sets  his  hand  on  folk  and  changes  'em.  I  ha'  seen  the 
like  o'  you— I  don't  know  where  I  saw  ye.  Maybe 
when  I  was  sot  upon  Poldrif ty  in  the  evening,  wi'  dark- 
ness coming  down  upon  me ;  or  in  the  night  wi'  the 
old  moon  shining  on  the  rocks,  and  a  bit  of  misty 
stuff  around  me.  I  ha'  thought  of  some  one  strong 
like  you,  and  beautiful  as  well ;  and  I  ha'  said  to  my- 
self, '  Jacob  Grambla  be  the  man  of  Moyle,  but  there 
shall  be  a  better  man  of  Moyle  than  he.'" 

Then  Mother  Gothal  fell  back  upon  a  chair  and 
called  for  ale. 

"  You  was  strong  as  a  little  baby,"  she  continued. 
"  You  hadn't  been  in  this  world  o'  lies  two  days  avore 
you  kicked  the  basin  o'  pap  into  the  fire.  Out  o'  my 
hand  you  kicked  mun — ^and  I  was  a  lusty  woman  then, 
aw,  and  a  fine-looking  woman  too,  as  Squire  will  tell 
ye.  Didn't  I  say  her  would  grow  monstrous  strong. 
Squire  Clabar,  when  her  kicked  the  pap  into  the  fire  ?  " 

"  I  believe  she  was  a  week  old,"  said  the  father. 

"  Two  days,  I  tell  ye— I  mind  it  well.  Her  was  so 
powerful  strong,  her  tore  the  cloam.    Her  never  took 


COMES  TO  HER  FATHER'S  COTTAGE      57 

to  pap  like  other  babies.  Her  craved  for  meat  avore 
the  teeth  had  come.  My  dear,  I  be  old  Mother  Gothal, 
who  nursed  you  in  these  old  arms — I  was  a  fine  woman 
then — ^and  hid  you  away  from  Master  Grambla — and 
I  knows  you  would  never  be  standing  here  all  big  and 
beautiful,  if  it  wam't  for  me." 

"  I  am  grateful,  Mother,"  said  Cherry.  "  I  shall 
come  to  Poldrifty  to  tell  you  what  I  have  done  and 
seen ;  and  sometimes  I  will  bring  in  wood  for  you  and 
carry  water.  Father,  we  must  find  a  safe  place  for  the 
guineas.  Shall  we  ask  Mother  Gothal  to  hide  them 
for  us  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  good  thought,"  said  Clabar ;  but  when 
he  had  explained  the  matter  to  Mother  Gothal  she 
threw  up  her  hands  and  cried  : 

"  Tempt  me  wi'  guineas  1  Ask  a  weak  and  sinful 
body  to  hide  your  money  !  You  would  never  see  one 
o'  they  guineas  again,  Squire  Clabar.  I  would  dig  a 
pit  under  a  stone,  and  put  'em  away,  and  I  wouldn't 
tell  ye  where  I  hid  'em,  and  I  would  fight  ye  both  if 
you  went  near  'em.  Trust  me  with  guineas  and  you 
raise  the  devil  I  I  had  a  house  once — aw,  a  house  wi' 
two  floors — ^and  a  black  gown  tor  Simdays,  and  a  white 
gown  for  fair-day,  and  a  man  to  work  for  me.  And 
now  I  be  an  old  witch  body,  biding  in  a  hole  of  turves 
and  stone.  Give  me  all  they  golden  guineas  to  watch 
for  ye,  and  I  would  get  me  again  a  house  wi'  two  floors, 
and  a  gown  for  Sunday,  and  another  for  fair-day,  and 
maybe  a  man  to  work  for  me  ;  for  I  be  a  wicked  woman 
—aw,  and  a  cunning  woman— when  I  smells  a  guinea. 
See  how  my  fingers  be  bent  to  take  'em  while  I'm 
talking !  " 

"  Then  we  must  find  another  way,"  said  Clabar. 
"  And  now.  Mother,  what  of  the  ghost  ?  " 

The  old  woman  drew  on  her  cap  of  mystery  as  she 
answered,  "  He  ha'  come  for  Master  Grambla." 

"  He  did  not  raise  it  ?  " 

"  Master  Grambla  raise  the  dead  !    Have  ye  served 


58 


MOYLE  CHXJRCH-TOWN 


the  man  these  years,  Squire  Clabar,  and  yet  do  not 
know  how  he  walks  a  mUe  at  night  rather  than  see 
the  graves  in  the  churchyard  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  think  it,"  Clabar  muttered. 

"  'Tisn't  the  ghost  of  a  Clabar,"  cried  Mother  Gothal. 
"  'Tis  a  little  old  man  like,  and  it  wears  a  big  red  cap.'' 

"  Who  has  summoned  it  from  the  world  of  spirits  ? 

"Evil  conscience,"  Cherry  murmured. 

"  Is  it  Sir  Thomas,  Mother  ?  "  o,  ,      :> 

"  Who  raises  spirits  from  the  dead.  Squire  Clabar  ? 
Folk  be  always  talking  about  heaven,  but  when  there 
comes  a  sign  from  heaven  they  swear  'tis  the  devil  s 
work.  You  know  I  hain't  a  witch ;  but  I  sits  up  over 
on  Poldrifty,  and  I  sees  a  thing  or  two.  I  hear  the  wind, 
and  I  watch  the  clouds,  and  I  feel  good  sunshine— and 
I  earn  a  bit  o'  food  by  lying,  and  get  me  a  few  sticks  for 
the  fire— but  there  be  plenty  going  on  what  I  can  t 
sense.  A  bad  man  don't  last.  Squire  Clabar,  not  even  m 
this  world.  The  devil  drives  'en  on,  but  the  Lord  be  at 
the  side  o'  the  pit,  and  pushes  'en  back,  and  gives  'en 
another  chance— seventy  chances  the  Lord  gives  a 
wicked  man.  Master  Grambla  ha'  brought  you  to 
this  from  Coinagehall,"  said  the  old  woman,  wavmg 
her  crooked  stick  from  wall  to  wall  of  the  poor  cottage. 

"To  worse  than  this,"  groaned  Clabar.     "Next 
week  we  are  homeless."  ,, 

"  But  the  Lord  ha'  worked  two  mbacles  for  ye, 
cried  Mother  Gothal,  pointing  the  stick  at  Cherry. 
"  The  Lord  ha'  sent  you  son  and  daughter  in  one  body ; 
and  he  sends  a  spirit  to  ruin  Master  Grambla." 


CHAPTER  VII 


RUTH  RECEIVES  THE  SPRING 


Though  her  mind  was  in  the  house,  Ruth  tarried  long 
in  the  sunshine ;  fearful  lest  Jacob  might  conquer 
terror  and  return.  Besides,  the  spring  was  in  her  blood. 
So  she  wandered  through  what  had  been  the  pleasance 
of  a  family  which  cared  for  flowers  and  herbs ;  as  a 
nun,  imprisoned  by  the  rules  of  her  order,  might  have 
lingered  among  the  ruins  of  her  desecrated  cloister. 

Clabars  of  the  past  included  a  love  of  gardens  among 
their  virtues.  They  had  preserved  many  of  the  plants 
grown  by  the  monks,  both  in  herb-groimd  and  flower- 
piece  ;  and  not  only  had  improved  upon  the  old  but 
had  introduced  the  new.  To  Jacob  the  fairest  flower- 
ing plant  was  but  a  conspicuous  weed  ;  he  would  have 
preferred  docks  and  nettles  because  such  growths  were 
strong,  assertive  in  their  roots  and  lives,  and  noted 
destroyers  of  the  weak. 

The  boimdaries  of  that  nearly  vanished  garden  were 
marked  by  walks  beneath  yews,  and  giant  box-hedges  ; 
and  the  space  thus  enclosed  lay  neglected  because 
there  was  no  profit  to  be  made  by  conquering  the  gross 
legions  of  the  weeds  ;  while  fruit,  herb,  and  vegetable 
in  season  were  brought  to  Coinagehall  by  parishioners  ; 
either  as  gifts,  or  as  settlement  of  some  slight  claim  ; 
for  money  was  scarce,  so  that  many  a  poor  fisherman 
hardly  handled  a  coin  during  the  year,  but  paid  his 
debts,  or  bought  what  articles  he  needed,  with  the 
contents  of  his  pilchard  creel. 

Flowers,  like  sunshme,  gave  themselves  to  the 
attorney,  as  to  the  Clabars ;  more,  they  struggled  to 

59 


6o 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


gve  themselves,  and  fought  from  couch-grass  through 
the  bramble-many  dying  in  the  attempt— to  attrwt 
his  notice ;  just  as  the  sun  would  conquer  rain-clouds 
to  restore  a  wounded  and  despairing  footpad.  Daffo- 
dds  and  anemones  enriched  the  grass,  with  hepaticas 
Wee  handfuls  of  jewels  the  dawn  had  scattered :  along 
the  shaded  ways  primroses  were  plentiful,  and  here 
crown  imperials  gave  a  flush  of  life.  The  crocus  opened 
rts  golden  chalice  to  the  bees,  wall-flowers  surrounded 
Kutn  with  theu-  passionate  perfume  ;  and  the  ahnond- 
tree,  more  lovely  than  a  robed  princess,  blushed  a  warm 
bT    S  b6^^^^  nakedness  before  the  swelling  shrub- 

Ruth  walked  not  there  to  think  of  Jacob  Grambla  : 
flowers  and  sweet  smells  in  the  air  had  nothing  in 
mnmon  with  his  meagre  body  and  fustian  clothes. 
Nor  of  ghostly  Red  Cap ;  for  the  spring  morning  could 
not  agree  with  apparitions.    She  was  thinking  of  her- 
self.  supremely  selfish ;  wondering  what  would  happen  • 
trymg  to  create  a  future  which  might  fit  the  events 
of  yesterday— and  succeeding.    But  then  she  bought 
her  future  ready-made,  and  paid  for  it  with  hope  de- 
teired.    It  was  a  dreaming  walk,  and  the  only  realities 
outside  her  body  were  sunshine  and  soft  breezes.  There 
was  no  ruined  garden  visibly  present ;  neither  flower 
nor  leaf.    And  within  her  body  was  a  mind  Ut  with 
a  new  understanding  of  nature,  a  brain  touched  by 
fancy,  ajid  a  heart  panting  for  aU  that  life  had  pro- 
mised.   Yet  she  was  afraid. 

^^r'^^'u*^^.^''*^^''*^^^^  *^^  ^^'  and  stood  at  the 
foot  of  the  stau^.  her  eyes  upon  those  dusty  footmarks. 
She  had  advanced  on  tiptoe,  terrified  by  the  sounds  of 
her  own  presence.  She  longed  to  ascend,  yet.  like  Jacob; 
dared  not  set  foot  in  the  upstairs  rooms.  In  spite  of 
the  perfect  light  she  shrank  from  those  miused  cham- 
h!!?«i  K  /2  °°« .Perhaps  was  the  figure  which  might 
haunt  her  life,  guidmg  it  towards  happiness,  or  lea&g 
It  to  rum ;  and  life  was  such  a  precious  thing  because 


I 


RUTH  RECEIVES  THE  SPRING  6i 

itcame  but  once ;  and  went  too  often  like  the  thread 
teoken^  the  spinning-wheel,  or  like  thTWef  hW^I 
t^t  hibernating  butterfly,  then  drifting  do^the 
st«rs  towards  the  promis^  summer,  and  frSrniKM 

Even  the  insect  made  a  sound  of  fluttering  caSinir 

'^     folS^?  descended  from  the  haunted  chamSS  to 
forsake  the  house.     A  small  thing  to  increS  her 
nervousness,  but  upon  this  day  even  flies  were  pr^hets 
It  was  necessary  to  ascend  the  staiS.  bi?  fet  ^ 

neios,  so  that  she  might  wm  some  confidence  bv  exer- 

^Tdav' wSltm'*  ^'"^"^^"^  ^^y  withTSplS  . 
wav  tn  c^y  r?  ®*^  ''^'y  y°"°g  •  sunshine  might  rive 
way  to  sleet  by  noon.    She  would  go  to  the  f aimstSd 

who^?h  staff  ofor"^^  '"»[!?  ^"^S  the  constable 
sea?ch^hp  Tr  K    ^''^  ?  ^^*^  "g^t  l^and.  would 
""fhiS^^t^^uSir."^^  ^*  -S^^  ^  ^-  <iuty  to 
The  sun  was  free  upon  the  fields,  but  bevond  fh« 

^ZU'^.T.  ^'?^^  ^^^^^  ^  ^e^  whe^pi^! 
ro^  were  dashed  with  spr:»y.    Ruth  was  awakenW 

woJid  wh^  Za  f^4'-  «^^  eyes'^k^^t^^; 
m^r^lii  ,  ^^  Changed  in  one  night  and  become 
ma^eUously  younger.  Never  befcJe  hTd  s^^. 
covered  music  m  running  water.  Never  had  she  thought 
Is  7,^,^^*^<^^^t>^?en  the  love  of  heaven  and  fJe 

^erwhisi'reSbX^^^^  ^'"'"''''^  primroS  iLd 
tn^i„X  ?S  ^^^^^  ^  ^^^^  ears  before.  She  bent 
to  pluck  a  bloom,  and  kissed  it. 

folly    -    leaW  fh!  K  ""'  ^^  conscious  of  her 

haZ  c.  i  ^  ^^  ^°"^®  unguarded.  Jacob  might 
of  hi  n  ^  'Pessenger  to  explore  the  unknown  leS 
of  his  own  demesne.    Some  gentleman  ofX  r^a? 


6t  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

finding  the  door  open,  might  have  been  tempted  by  «» 
flUence  wHhin  to  search  the  rooms,  and  to  plunge  His 
thievish  hands  into  the  attorney's  hoard  <rf  stolen 
goineas.  Even  the  curate  might  have  caUed  m  her 
Ibsence.  hoping  to  exorcise  Red  Cap  with  Greek  quota- 
tions and  a  discreet  use  of  the  magic  pcntade.  Kutn 
shivered  at  the  thought  of  a  stranger's  ascent  towards 
the  haunted  chambers,  whether  armed  with  stafi  ol 
office,  pistols  of  lawlessness,  or  cabalistic  lore. 

Her  mind  was  more  at  ease  when  she  entered,  agam 
on  tiptoe,  and  faUed  to  find  fresh  footprints  m  the  dust. 
After  all,  as  the  old  clock  in  the  kitchen  mformed  her 
with  many  a  wheeze  and  chuckle,  the  day  was  scarce 
one  half-hour  older.  Ruth  was  accustomed  m  her 
loneliness  to  chatter  with  the  clock ;  but  this  mornmg 
aU  her  words  were  whispers,  and  they  were  addressed 

to  her  own  new  mind.  .   ^v  u      *^ 

The  time  had  come  when  she  must  go  to  the  haunted 
chamber  which-as  she  knew  well— contamcd  a  great 
bedstead  whereon  all  manner  of  Cornish  worthies  had 
reposed.  So  she  left  the  kitchen,  snuling  a  httle,  but 
grave  about  the  eyes ;  and  as  she  crossed  the  haU 
a  robin  burst  into  song  from  a  rose-bush  near  the 
porch ;  and  Ruth  longed  to  understand  the  language 

of  that  bird.  ,       ,  ,    ^^ , 

The  stairs  did  not  creak,  for  they  were  oak  and 
disdained  all  weakness.  One  by  one  Ruth  clunbed  to 
the  twenty-fourth  and  last,  counting  them  and  won- 
dering at  the  end  where  she  had  passed  the  step  which 
marked  her  year ;  for  she  did  not  know  her  age.  The 
robin  sang  on,  another  answered,  and  the  house 
became  ioyous.  The  birds  were  about  to  mate,  to 
make  the  home,  and  to  rear  the  yoimg  ;  so  they  sang 
in  the  joy  of  marriage,  and  their  pride  of  plumage,  to 
teU  the  world  no  springtime  should  be  lost. 

Yet  ioy  of  life  and  sunshine  go  together.  Shadows 
were  deep  and  sounds  were  muffled  along  the  pa^ag^' 
where  spiders  had  acquired  long  leaseholds  of  the 


RUTH  RECEIVES  THE  SPRING 


63 


windows,  and  wainscoting  was  freehold  of  the  mice ;  as 
darkness  lurks  in  comers  of  the  cathedral  while  the 
choir  sing  Easter  anthems.  Because  of  the  gloom  and 
damp,  Ruth  felt  s(Mne  sadness ;  but  a  black  cobweb 
fell  n'om  a  pane  like  a  filthy  rag  as  she  passed  by,  and 
the  tight  streamed  th.  :ugh ;  and  she  was  glad  again, 
for  the  sun  seemed  with  her. 

More  than  robins  were  singing  in  the  garden ; 
blackbirds  and  thrushes  had  joined  in  ;  and  her  heart 
answered — how  noisily  it  went,  a**  ^e  tapped  the 
chamber  door,  and  bravely  cried : 

"  Ghost,  awake  1  Good  ghost,  it  is  time  to  hide." 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE  PLACE  IS  HAUNTED 


The  forenoon  was  spent  before  Clabcur  and  his 
daughter,  who  walked  with  long  strides,  clutching  the 
parcel  of  guineas,  reached  the  fields  of  Coinagehall ; 
and  at  one  of  the  high  hedges  they  came  by  chance 
upon  Toby  Penrice  whistling  carelessly  while  he  cut  a 
hazel  twig.  Cherry  caught  sight  of  the  big  figure  at 
some  distance,  but  Clabar  was  not  distmbed,  for  they 
were  still  upon  the  right  of  way. 

"  I  told  you  nobody  dared  to  trespass.  I  had  forgot 
Toby,"  he  said. 

"  Is  this  fellow  a  limatic  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  A  very  :>imple,  poor,  and  idle  gentleman.  His 
father  left  him  a  small  property,  which  he  sold,  and 
now  lives  upon  the  capital.  I  fear  the  money  will  not 
last  his  time,  for  'tis  said  Grambla  had  it  for  invest- 
ment. He  is  abo  friendly  to  Toby,  and  has  given  him 
our  cottage  as  a  sign  of  his  fatal  kindliness.  Toby  will 
pay  dear,  I  fancy,  for  the  hares  he  has  stolen  from 
Coinagehall,  ay,  and  for  the  stick  he  is  now  cutting 
from  the  hedge. — Good  morning,  Toby,"  he  called. 
"  Do  you  make  a  spring  to  catch  a  rabbit  ?  " 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Clabar,"  replied  the  idler. 
"  Here  is  weather  to  set  us  all  a-singing.  Here  is  black- 
thorn in  the  bloom  already.  I  get  me  a  fork  of  hazel 
to  find  water,  Mr.  Clabar  ;  for  I  promised  a  farmer  of 
the  next  parish  to  discover  a  spring  upon  his  land,  and 
the  divining  rod  is  the  siu-est  way  to  find  it." 

He  was  staring  at  the  stalwart  Cherry  as  he  spoke. 

64 


IHHI 


THE  PLACE  IS  HAUNTED 


65 


1 


"  Here  is  my  son  Peter,  just  arrived  from  Plymouth." 
said  Clabar  awkwardly. 

"Your  servant,  sir."  mumbled  Toby,  fumbling 
with  his  knife.  "  I  shall  be  happy  to  serve  you.  sir. 
If  you  are  iond  of  the  angle,  1  will  show  you  where  the 
best  trout  lie.  I  will  sell  ymx  a  dog,  or  buy  you  a  horse ; 
and  if  you  have  need  of  a  fishing  net  I  wUl  make  one 
for  you.  Sir,  I  promise  yo^  no  man  knows  thb  parish 
of  Moyle  half  so  well  as  I  do.  I  will  teach  you  every 
path  and  lane  within  ten  miles,  and  if  you  have  a  liking 
for  good  ale  you  may  trust  me — ay,  sir,  you  may  trust 
me  there." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  kmdness,"  said  Cherry  in 
her  deepest  voice. 

"  A  good  bass  truly,"  said  Toby,  still  fixed  in  the 
same  attitude.  "  'Twouid  go  with  the  bassoon.  We 
need  a  mighty  voice  to  go  with  the  basso<m  played  by 
Master  TrUlian.  Sir,  I  would  have  you  know  we  sing 
the  psalms  right  merrily  in  Moyle.  We  will  sing 
against  any  parish,  sir.  Master  Trillian  is  blacksmith, 
and  a  mighty  man  in  wind.  Last  Easter  mom,  when 
we  lifted  up  their  heads,  O  ye  gates,  he  blew  the  wig 
of  Master  Smart,  who  pla3rs  the  flute,  clean  off  his 
head.  Sir,  you  are  a  man  of  Moyle,  I  take  it." 

"  I  was  bom  here,"  replied  Cherry. 

"Then  you  are  a  parishioner  and  a  Comishman. 
Sir.  the  men  of  Cornwall  will  not  be  English  until  the 
river  Tamar  b  removed  by  Act  of  Parliament.  I  have 
some  history ;  I  was  taught  by  my  father,  who  was 
a  famous  man.  Sir,  he  had  a  ewe  wliich  bore  three 
lambs  five  years  in  succession,  and  not  one  was 
lost.  My  father  was  painted,  standing  beside  the  ewe, 
with  a  wreaih  of  laurel  upon  his  head." 

"  What  was  upon  the  head  of  the  ewe  ?  "  asked 
Cherry. 

"  Why,  sfa",  nothing.  She  was  a  brute  beast  which  hath 
no  understanding.  My  f  athor  desired  a  lamb  to  appear 
upon  his  tomb ;  butthe  mason  byan  error  carved  a  ram." 


\n 


66 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  I  have  seen  the  lamb  painted  upon  windows  of 
churches  in  Plymouth,"  said  Cherry. 

"Sir,  this  was  envy,"  replied  Toby.    "  The  church- 
wardens knew  of  my  father's  fame,  and  desired  the 
panshionere  to  believe  their  ewes  were  no  less  proUfic." 
Come,     whispered  Clabar.     "  This  feUow  would 
stand  the  whole  day  talking."    Then  he  said  aloud, 

1  go  with  my  son  around  these  lanes,  which  are  the 
boundanes  of  Coinagehall.    We  must  not  linger." 

..  xxZ^^^  *^*^^  y°"  beware  of  robbers,"  said  Toby. 
Why  so  ?    Our  parish  roads  are  said  to  be  free 
from  that  vermin." 

"Yesterday  in  the  afternoon,  as  I  set  nets  for  rabbits 
yonder,  replied  Toby,  pointing  into  the  forbidden 
temtory,  I  saw  a  young  man  crawling  in  the  shade. 
He  seemed  to  be  wounded,  but  when  I  came  near  he 
ran  and  got  away.  I  heard  him  groan  and,  fearing  he 
p  ayed  decoy  and  would  have  led  me  into  some  secret 
P  .fl?^^^"^®  ^^  S^S  ^ay  hidden,  I  turned  me  back." 

^^  There  are  ghosts  in  Moyle,"  said  Clabar. 

^^  And  they  ^e  given  to  groaning,"  Cherry  added. 
Ghosts  and  strangers  are  the  like  to  me,"  said 
loby  I  welcome  neither  one  nor  t'other.  But  I 
would  sooner  face  a  spirit  than  a  cut-purse.  'Tis  ill 
to  be  frighted,  but  worse  to  be  killed  ;  for  a  man,  look 
ye  will  get  over  his  fright  and  know  a  pretty  tale  to 
ten  the  parish  ;  but  he  will  not  get  over  his  kUling  till 
the  day  of  judgment.  Mr.  Clabar,  sir,  I  wish  you 
happiness.  I  take  your  cottage  because  Mr.  Grambla 
says  I  must.  He  would  send  me  to  jail,  su-,  for  evading 
the  game  laws,  for  trespassing  upon  his  property,  for 
taking  his  hares— he  would  frame  a  dozen  indictments 
agamst  me. 

"  Say  nothing,  Toby.    I  believe  you  are  an  honest 
man.    said  Clabar  shortly. 

*  "J^^^l  ^"'  ^^  ^^^"  "^^^*  ag^"^-  I  wUl  teach  you 
to  hunt  the  otter.  Sir.  you  will  pardon  me."  cried 
loby,  fumblmg  again  with  knife  and  fork  of  hazel. 


THE  PLACE  IS  HAUNTED 


X 


67 


have  walked  this  parish  since  I  was  a  child.  I  have 
seen  all  manner  of  folk,  both  young  and  old— I  have 
some  learning,  sir,  and  have  traveUed,  twenty  miles 
to  the  west,  and  as  many  to  the  east.  But.  sir.  I  have 
never  set  eyes  upon  a  gentleman  like  you." 

"  I  come  from  the  town,"  said  Cherry. 

A  v""'  J  ^  y°""^  gentlemen  of  the  town  are  strong 
and  handsome,  I  wonder  no  longer  why  the  maidens 
desire  to  go  there.  Were  tlie  ladies  as  handsome  as 
the  men,  I  would  even  travel  to  the  town  myself— 
and  did  one  smile  upon  me  I  would  stay  there  "  he 
declared. 

"This  is  a  very  curious  feUow,"  remarked  Cherry, 
as  they  idled  down  the  lane. 

"  And  one  I  would  beg  you  to  distrust,"  her  father 
answered.  "  Let  us  sttmd  within  this  coppice  till  he  goes 
off  to  ^er— I  see  he  glances  at  his  watch,  the  sun." 
Is  he  one  of  Grambla's  creatures  ?  " 
"I  think  he  has  not  wit  enough  ;  but  he  is  friendly 
with  the  rascal,  and  doubtless  gives  him  information 
even  if  they  do  not  both  drive  their  geese  to  the  same 
market.   As  you  see.  this  Toby  is  an  idler,  yet  one  who 
must  be  always  doing  something.    He  will  make  whips 
for  the  farmers,  or  dress  a  fly  for  anglers  ;  train  a  doe 
or  accustom  a  horse  to  harness ;    and  is.  I  am  told 
skilful  at  knotting  twine.    He  follows  the  hunt,  and  i^ 
ready  to  give  a  hand  when  needed  ;  whUe  sometimes  he 
will  carry  a  message  from  this  parish  to  the  next     He 
is  much  m  favour  with  the  farmers,  for  he  informs  them 
when  gipsies  have  settled  upon  their  land,  or  when 
poachers  have  set  their  gins ;   though  in  my  opinion 
he  IS  himself  the  greatest  poacher  in  the  country.    He 
IS.  m  short,  a  meddlesome  fellow,  and  something  of 
a  spy ;   but  you  will  not  find  he  informs  against  anv 
person  that  is  stronger  than  himself." 
"  He  is  not  married  ?  " 

"  Nay,  he  has  courted  every  maid  from  fourteen 
upwards  ;  all  like  his  face  no  better  than  his  prospects 


68 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


There  is  no  Ugly  Club  in  Moyle.  such  as  exists  in  the 
nietropolis ;  else  Toby  would  surely  be  elected  to  the 
chair  of  president." 

When  the  subject  of  these  remarks  was  seen  whist- 
ling his  way  to  Moyle,  father  and  daughter  left  the 
coppice  for  the  fields,  and  described  a  devious  course 
towards  the  house.  Clabar  was  unwilling  to  draw  too 
^^fJ^-iu       ^^^"^'  ^""  °*  ardour,  went  ahead. 

•  *u  ,  ??^^  °'^^  ^  '"^'^  ^  *^e  ^ouse,  and  her  place 
is  the  kitchen,"  she  declared. 

"She  might  look  out  by  chance  and  discover  us. 
Then  she  would  tell  her  father,  not  out  of  ill-will  but 
to  give  excuse  for  speaking.  Our  coming  would  be  an 
adventure  in  her  life." 

'.',  5Jj^  ^^^^  °^y  see  us  from  the  upstair  windows." 
These  rooms  are  closed  and  now  deserted,"  sighed 
Clabar  heavily.  ^ 

"You  are  mistaken!"  exclahned  Cherry,  a  few 
moments  later.    "  See  !  a  window  stands  open." 

There  I  was  bom.    It  was  the  chamber  of  my 
parents.  -^ 

of  a  fi"^ re^.P^y  ^^^^  deceived  me,  I  saw  the  movement 

"  Let  us  not  hasten."  said  Clabar. 

"  Two  generations  of  Clabar  run  from  the  natural 
daughter  of  a  thief  I  "  said  Cherry  scornfully  "  This 
way,  father,  towards  the  thick  shrubbery.  We  wiU 
make  through  it  untU  we  come  opposite  the  door  We 
lose  ^jpity  by  cowardice,  not  by  prudence." 

What  did  you  see  at  the  window  ?  "  asked  Clabar  • 
tothe hou^^*^*^  Jacob  might  have  returned  suddenly 

"A  movement  only,  as  of  a  figure  passing— or  per- 
haps a  curtain  shaken  by  the  breeze." 
,  They  gained  the  shrubbery  and  passed  through 
mto  the  garden,  proceeding  without  difficulty  behind 
yew  and  laurel,  until  they  reached  a  Judas  tree,  which 
Clabar  recognised  as  standing  nearly  opposite  the 


THE  PLACE  IS  HAUNTED  69 

porch.  They  waited  some  minutes,  and  when  no  sound 
reached  their  ears,  advanced  until  only  a  few  bushes 
separated  their  bodies  from  the  opm  space.  Standing 
there,  a  few  paces  from  the  house— the  door  of  which 
was  closed— Clabar  pointed  out  the  various  rooms 
upon  that  side,  and  in  a  trembling  voice  recalled  manv 
an  mcident  of  family  history. 

"Beneath  that  chimney-stack  I  slept  as  a  boy. 
Behmd  that  window  I  stood  upon  wet  days  to  call 
the  sunshme  back.  Down  those  steps  I  feU,  when  a 
child,  and  cut  my  forehead  grievously.  Along  that 
path,  now  covered  with  grass— where  the  Jilacs  grow— 
was  my  mother's  favourite  walk.  Across  that  field— 
I  see  It  as  a  lawn— my  father  would  pace  at  evenine 
groaning  at  the  state  of  his  affairs." 

So  he  ran  on.  bringing  the  old  years  back  without 
their  life. 

"  This  place  is  haunted  indeed,"  the  daughter  mur- 
mured. ^ 

"  By  worthy  folk  to  Clabars  ;  by  demons  to  a  Gram- 
Dla,    he  answered. 

''  Is  it  richly  furnished  ?  " 

"Nay,  child.  This  house  is  now  an  empty  shell, 
through  wmch  our  name  moans  each  time  the  wind 
blows.  Weighty  furr:  nre  remains— the  old  beds  and 
clothes-prases— I  kno,  not  what  else,  save  a  picture 
or  two.  I  have  not  stood  here  since  I  was  young  Mv 
Edor*^!^^  present,  and  some  day  his  past  shaU  lie 

They  wandered  a  little  further  through  the  shrub- 
bery, and  came  out  upon  the  other  side  of  the  house 
where  it  was  shady  after  midday  ;  and  in  their  eager- 
ness forgot  to  hide.  Here  a  dim  pathway  went  towards 
the  outbuildmgs.  to  be  lost  at  the  bend  among  bushes  of 
box  and  laurel,  so  that  any  one  passing  towards  them 
would  have  appeared  with  suddenness.  Both  were  en- 
grossed and  took  no  heed  of  the  sUence ;  for  birds  had 
ceased  to  sing.    Then  a  blackbird  flew  past  screaming 


70 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


They  looked  at  each  other,  and  Clabar  aroused  him- 
self from  thought  to  pursue  with  sad  eyes  the  flight  of 
the  frightened  bird. 
I'  There  is  nobody,"  said  Cherry. 
"  We  have  spent  an  hour  already  upon  folly,"  he 
said  impatiently.  "  I  do  not  come  here  again.  '  The 
sight  of  the  old  place  sets  my  heart  back.  Come, 
Cherry!  tl  ere  is  a  wall  here  we  can  climb.  If  we  came 
like  owners  we  will  go  like  thieves." 

"  Ah  !  "  she  exclaimed.    "  Father  !  Father  !  " 
Startled  by  her  voice  and  sudden  pallor,  Clabar 
started  round— for  he  had  turned  to  go— and  looked 
out  into  the  shade. 

A  man  walked  slowly  before  the  hedge  of  box  and 
laurel,  looking  down  upon  the  grass.  He  wore  a 
remarkable  hat,  not  unlike  an  orange-basket,  an 
enormous  ruff,  a  slashed  doublet  with  slit  sleeves,  a 
long  cloak,  a  pair  of  trunk-hose,  and  square  shoes 
adorned  with  roses.  He  wore  no  wig,  and  his  hair  was 
twisted  on  each  side  of  his  head  in  a  peculiar  fashion. 

A  woman  appeared  upon  the  pathway,  advancing 
towards  the  man  with  the  same  sluggish  steps ;  and 
her  face  was  practically  invisible,  for  she  wore  a  hood 
of  thick  velvet  which  projected  on  each  side  of  her 
head  ;  between  her  yellow  ruff  and  this  quaint  head- 
gear the  face  was  ahnost  lost  :  her  gown,  trailing 
upon  the  grass,  appeared  as  heavy  as  armom-,  for  it 
was  stiff  with  embroidery  of  silver ;  her  shoes  were 
also  square-toed,  while  her  stockings  were  scarlet. 
"^  What  are  they  ?  "  whispered  Cherry  at  length. 
"Spirits  of  our  ancestors,"  her  father  muttered, 
placmg  a  hand  before  his  eyes. 

Those  garments  were  not  made  since  the  revolu- 
tion. They  were  the  fashion  in  the  reign  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,"  she  murmured. 

The  silent  couple  were  now  pacing  the  turf,  where 
had  been  formeriy  the  bowling-green  ;  side  by  side  as 
if  related,  but  strangers  to  the  worid  they  walked  in. 


THE  PLACE  IS  HAUNTED 


71 


"  Can  you  give  them  names  ?  "  asked  Cherry. 

"  I  have  seen  his  portrait.  It  hangs  above  the  fire- 
place in  the  dining-room." 

"  And  the  woman  ?  " 

"  His  wife,  and  my  grandmother.  I  know  them  by 
their  dresses." 

"  His  ruff  looks  as  full  of  holes  as  a  lawyer's  con- 
science. Ghosts  seen  in  day-time  do  not  freeze  my 
blood.    I  will  address  them." 

''  Stay  !  "  muttered  Clabar. 

"  I  will  go.  If  they  are  ghosts  they  come  to  warn  us, 
and  these  gentry  may  not  speak  to  a  mortal  till  they 
are  addressed." 

But  before  she  could  break  clear  of  the  bushes  the 
ghostly  pair  withdrew  in  the  same  silent  manner ;  and 
when  Cherry  reached  the  path  they  had  departed. 
She  tried  to  follow,  but  the  place  was  deserted  and  as 
silent  as  it  had  been.  Clabar  was  leaning  against  a 
tree,  seeing  nothing,  but  sighing  woefully. 

Cherry  returned  cind  in  a  valiant  mood  opened  the 
front  door,  entered  the  house,  and  advanced  into  the 
kitchen.  There  was  no  sign  of  life  in  Coinagehall, 
beyond  the  clock,  a  garrulous  body  which  wheezed  a 
welcome  gladly.    The  fire,  she  perceived,  was  dead. 

"  I  make  nothing  of  this,"  she  told  her  father.  "  I 
looked  into  the  dining-room — 'tis  now  a  bed-chamber 
—and  saw  the  portrait.    It  is  the  figure  that  we  saw." 

"  The  father  and  mother  of  my  parents." 

"^  Where  is  the  maiden  Ruth  ?  " 

"Gone  into  town  upon  some  duty.  A  poor  weak 
timid  maid,  who  lacks  the  spirit  to  wish  a  man  good 
morning.  Come  I  we  will  return  across  the  fields — 
I  care  not  who  sees  us  now.  This  place  is  haunted, 
this  parish  is  enchanted." 

"Let  us  believe  rather,"  replied  Cherry,  "these 
spirits  of  our  ancestors  appeared,  not  to  warn  us,  nor 
yet  to  frighten  us  away  ;  but  to  welcome  John  Clabar 
and  his  daughter  home  to  Coinagehall." 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  SAD  DOG  TELLS  HIS  STORY 

"  n  ^^i'  !^^^  ^  P'®"y  *"<^k'"  replied  her  gaUant. 
But  what  if  they  should  teU  upon  me  ?  " 

««*  n!'  **^®y  ^^  '*®^®''  ^°-  ^^tf;r  Clabai  would 
not  wish  any  one  to  know  he  had  trespassed  here  ;  and 
tor  the  same  reason  the  young  man  with  him  will  keep 
sil^t.    I  shall  not  tell  of  them-nay.  I  cannot  beW 

^f  °'*'..  ?  *"".?  *^«  ^«"»d  be  to  discl^l^ 
ality,  which  at  this  moment  I  do  not  possess.    While 

tSo'dT'  ^^^®      °"*  °^  ***®  ^"™*°  *^y  *^®*  *^* 

.ol'  '^^*5i*^^  ^  P^'^  ^  ^  evil  spirit  wearing  a  red 
cap.     said  the  Elizabethan  gentleman.     "  T(^y  i 
go  in  the  gala  dress  of  a  yeoman  of  old  time." 
..  An<i,  to-morrow  you  shaU  be  yourself  again." 

rict    1   ^  °1?^"'"  ^^  *^^  g^^t  solemnly.  "  is  to 
nsk  playing  the  part  of  spirit  without  a  mask/' 
^^  I  trust,  su:.  you  are  jesting."  she  faltered. 
A  true  word.  lady.    I  have  broken  jail.    But  let 

{S«m  tofh°^**;^  "^-'"^'^^  garments,  and  restore 
them  to  the  clothes-presses."  he  said  briskly.  "  Thev 
smell  to  me  hke  grave-clothes  ;  and.  to  be  honest, 
this  fashion  does  not  suit  you." 

Ruth  and  her  stranger  were  hidden  in  the  coach- 
house, which  was  separated  from  the  garden  by  a  wall 
T^Z^^  of  weedy  court.    They  stoSd  at  the  foot  of 

H^5^i.^^^^^  *°  *^^  ^^y^*^^  •  ^d  behind  the  trap- 
door above  they  would  have  made  themselves  sa^ 

7a 


A  SAD  DOG  TELLS  HIS  STORY         73 

had  Cherry  followed.  The  man  was  young  and  hand- 
some, but  in  so  weak  a  condition  he  seemed  hardly 
able  to  support  the  weight  of  his  borrowed  garments  ; 
while  he  breathed  heavily  as  if  exhausted  by  the  slight 
adventure. 

"  Come  with  me  to  the  house,"  said  Ruth  with  a 
dangerous  tenderness.     "The  spies  are  gone.     The 
man  whom  I  call  father  does  not  return  till  evening. 
He  dines  at  the  village  ordinary." 
"  He  is  a  small  man  ?  " 
"  Who  fights  with  his  brain." 
"  This  morning  I  heard  you  dare  him  to  go  up ; 
I  learnt  then  the  manner  of  man  he  is.    So  I  stood 
behind  the  door,  with  the  knife  you  gave  me  ready." 

"  I  wished  him  to  go,  yet  I  hoped  he  would  stay  ; 
for  I  knew  you  must  kill  him." 
As  Ruth  made  this  admission  they  entered  the  house. 
"  Alone  I  would  have  struck  him  once  and  left  the 
result  to  heaven.   If  he  recovered  of  the  wound— well," 
said  the  young  man  calmly.     "  My  sentence  cannot 
be  increased;    but  knowing  you  would  have  shared 
it  as  my  accomplice,  I  should  have  killed." 
II  For  my  sike,"  she  murmured. 
"  Lady,  your  honour  is  in  my  keeping,"  he  answered, 
overhearing  her.    "  You  give  me  all  the  aids  to  live, 
and  each  hour  increases  my  weight  of  debt.    You  buy 
me  with  your  pity  and  your  kindness.    Yesterday  I 
reached  this  parish  at  the  end  of  my  power,  looking 
forward  to  death  in  a  ditch— for  I  had  eaten  nothing 
these  three  days— and  prepared  to  surrender  to  any 
stripling.    What  manner  of  man  is  your  constable  ?  " 
"He  is  very  stout,  and  'tis  said  no  hero,"  she 
answered  lightly. 

"  I  know  his  sort.  One  thrust  in  the  paunch  and 
he  lies  on  his  back." 

"  Sit  here  while  I  prepare  your  dinner,"  ordered 
Ruth.  She  had  cast  of!  the  head-gear,  but  retained 
the  cumbersome  go\vn  which  swept  the  floor. 


74 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  At  last  I  came  to  this  estate  at  break  of  day  " 
^  hero  continued  "  Seeing  a  copse.  I  chose  thit 
place  to  die  in.  I  lay  for  some  hours,  and  in  the 
madness  of  my  hunger  devoured  a  vast  quantity  of 
the  small  yellow  flowers  which  grow  there  " 

"  They  saved  your  life."  cried  Ruth.  "  These  prim- 
roses are  excellent  for  salad." 

The  flowers  had  but  continued  my  misery  without 
you,  he  answered.  "  I  was  aroused  by  the  barking  of 
dogs,  and,  fearing  lest  some  sportsman  might  enter 
the  copse,  I  came  out  and  began  to  cross  the  fields. 
A  man.  with  the  form  of  a  fanner  and  the  face 
of  a  fool,  challenged  me,  and  with  my  last  strength 
I  ran  towards  the  house.  Agam  I  lay  in  the 
bushes.  Then,  with  the  knowledge  that  my  end 
was  near,  I  crawled  out  into  the  garden,  and,  seeing 
a  wmdow  open,  I  clunbed  into  the  room  and  fell 
upon  the  bed.  When  my  senses  departed  I  did  not 
expect  to  see  the  world  again." 

u  liJ^f  T^  ^°'"^°*  y°"  ^^^  ^^^  "PO»i  the  bed,"  said 
Kutn.  I  am  a  poor  conspirator.  It  was  indeed 
fortunate  my  master  had  seen  a  ghost,  and  was  on 
that  account  too  frightened  to  catch  me  in  my  speech. 
He  spoke  of  a  man,  and  I  supposed  he  meant  you. 
Then  he  spoke  of  an  evil  spirit  wearing  a  red  cap,  and 
1  had  the  wit  to  make  you  the  ghostly  substitute.  But 
1  must  warn  you,  sir,  Jacob  Grambla  is  too  cunning  a 
lawyer  to  be  deceived  for  long.     He  will  assuredly 

""?  n°i^°^  ^**y  ^  *"*  consuming  so  much  food." 
leu  him  worms  were  in  the  meat,  and  you  were 
forced  to  throw  it  out." 

"  ^  ^.^^'^^^  ^*  *iave  thought  of  that  ingenious 
answer,  said  Ruth  simply.  "  I  beg  you  now  go 
upstairs  and  change  your  garments.    When  you  return 

IJT^ }^''\y°''J  '^"^^'"  waiting;  and  you  must 
eat  heartily  for  I  can  give  you  no  more  until  the 
morning.  And  while  you  are  eating  I  wUl  put  off 
this  frippery.  ^ 


A  SAD  DOG  TELLS  HIS  STORY         75 

"  I  obey  the  commandments  of  my  lady,  though 
I  have  neglected  those  of  the  Church ;  but  in  that 
respect  I  hope  to  amend,"  said  the  stranger. 

He  bowed  and  made  for  the  door,  but  turned 
suddenly,  and,  taking  her  hands,  pressed  them  to- 
gether against  his  heart  and  did  not  trust  himself 
to  speak.  It  was  done  like  a  gentleman,  and  Ruth 
replied  like  a  modest  little  lady  with  sighs  and 
blushes  and  unruly  eyes.  Then  he  withdrew  quickly, 
while  she  pressed  her  hands  upon  her  heated  face,  and 
did  not  think  she  was  a  kitchen-wench;  for  by 
welcoming  a  poor  wayfarer  she  was  entertaining  a 
kmg's  son  in  disguise. 
"This  morning  I  was  afraid  of  my  stranger,  but 
i  i  "°^  ^  ^°^  him— and  could  even  tell  secrets  to  him," 
(1  she  said  to  her  old  companion  the  olock,  which  could 
only  reply  with  jealous  wheezings  and  spasmodic 
jerking  of  a  hand  which  had  not  pointed  truly  the 
last  twelvemonth. 

When  her  hero  descended  in  his  own  shabby 
raiment,  Ruth  felt  again  a  little  cowardice,  and 
slipped  away  to  don  her  workaday  clothing,  while 
the  gentleman  dined.  After  a  decent  interval  she 
returned  to  the  kitchen,  and  fed  upon  scraps  with  a 
mouse's  appetite,  and  there  was  silence  between 
them  for  some  time. 

"  Does  nobody  ever  come  to  this  house  ?  "  he  asked 
at  length. 

"An  old  woman  from  the  fann  below  brings 
what  we  require.  Some  poor  folk  call  with  fish 
and  vegetables.  There  come  also  pedlare  with  their 
trifles  to  tempt  maids,  and  Romans  with  their 
brushes  and  baskets.  But  none  of  these  can  pass  the 
door."  *^ 

"  Does  the  lawyer  receive  no  company  ?  " 
"  Nay,  he  is  to  be  found  each  day  at  his  office.    He 
IS  not  of  the  gentry,  and  he  keeps  no  servants." 
"  Is  he  not  a  man  of  fortune  ?  " 


76  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

••  I  know  nothing  of  that,  but  I  beUev«  him  to  be 
poor." 

"  Does  he  pay  you  for  serving  him  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  and  smiled. 

"  These  are  your  wages  then  :  a  Uttle  food,  a  skep- 
mg  place,  garments  to  cover  you,  and  solitude,"  said 
the  young  man  fiercely. 

"I  tell  him  what  articles  I  require,  and  sometimes 
he  buys  them.  I  have  never  held  a  coin  in  my  hand 
with  the  knowledge  it  was  mine." 

The  stranger  rose  and  walked  weakly  to  the  window. 
He  stood  there  and  without  turning  spoke.  "  Some 
day  you  shall  have  fine  dresses  and  a  purse  of  gold  I 
swear  it." 

"  Come  now,"  said  Ruth,  so  soon  as  she  could  com- 
mand her  voice.  "  Let  us  make  plans.  We  are  assured 
of  solitude  for  the  next  three  hours  ;  afterwards  every 
moment  is  a  time  of  danger. ' ' 

"  I  am  not  to  lie  in  this  house  to-night  ?  "  he  ask^d 
retummg  slowly  to  the  fire-place. 

"  I  believe  Mr.  Grambla  will  come  earlier  than  usual, 
for  he  IS  now  afraid  to  he  abroad  at  twilight "  she 
answered.  "  I  will  carry  blankets  into  the  loft,  and 
there  you  shall  lie  until  strong  enough  to  leave  me— 
to  go  upon  your  business,  sir,  I  would  say,"  cried  Ruth 
m  much  confusion. 

"I  thank  you,"  said  the  young  man  deeply.  "  I 
have  so  much  to  thank  you  for.  I  know  not  which 
act  of  kmdness  to  place  first.  Lady,  I  owe  no  man 
a  penny,  nor  any  woman  thanks  but  you.  This  b  the 
first  debt  I  have  contracted  and.  by  the  God  of 
Heaven,  the  interest  shall  be  paid  before  I  go— ay 
and  part  of  the  capital,  if  need  be.  with  my  life." 

Oh.  sir  !  "  gasped  Ruth.  "  Nay,  sir.  remember  we 
are  here  alone.  I  believe,  sir.  you  are  a  gentleman, 
though  I  know  not  your  name ;  while  I  am  but  a  poor 
maid,  who  never  saw  her  parents,  has  a  borrowed 
name,  a  rogue  for  father,  and  no  friends." 


A  SAD  DOG  TELLS  HIS  STORY         77 

••  Save  one." 

"  And  he  came  yesterday." 

"  From  jaU,  where  he  lay  awaiting  death." 

"  I  will  be  your  judge/'^  said  Ruth.  "  I  discharge 
you,  prisoner." 

"  What  if  the  prisoner  will  not  accept  discharge  ? 
If  he  insists  upon  being  bound  ?  " 

"  Then  he  mu<l  be  removed  by  force,"  said  Ruth, 
and  skipped  away,  laughing  happily,  yet  wondering 
why  she  grew  so  fearless. 

An  hour  later  aU  traces  of  an  uninvited  guest  had 
been  obliterated  from  the  upstair  room,  blankets  been 
carried  to  the  loft,  dinner  things  washed  ;  and  as  the 
evening  was  still  far  off,  maiden  and  interloper  seated 
themselves  beside  the  kitchen  fire,  the  one  with  her 
knitting,  the  other  with  his  thought-. 
^  "We  have  two  hours  of  safety  yet,"  said  Ruth. 
"  Even  if  the  master  should  return  so  long  before  his 
time,  we  shall  hear  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  and  the 
opening  of  the  door.  Then  you  must  escape  by  the 
back  and  run  for  the  loft." 

"And  now  let  me  tell  you  my  story,"  said  the 
stranger. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  listen,"  said  Ruth.  "  But 
if  you  close  my  ears,  you  are  to  keep  yoiur  own  wide 
open." 

"You  called  me  a  gentleman,"  began  the  way- 
farer, "  and  I  believe  i  have  some  right  to  that  title ; 
for  my  father,  after  he  retired  from  trade,  was  pleased 
to  forget  he  had  stood  behind  the  counter,  and  was 
indeed  not  displeased  when  mistaken  for  a  buck.  My 
name,  lady,  is  Job  Cay.  If  it  sounds  tmpleasantly  upon 
your  ears,  I  beg  of  you  to  blame  my  father,  who 
numbered  among  his  eccentricities  a  curious  liking 
for  brevity.  Both  in  speaking  and  writing  he  would 
confine  himself  to  words  of  one  syllable ;  and  when  a 
longer  word  was  unavoidable,  he  would  set  the 
syllables  apart  il  writing  a  letter,  or  if  speaking  he 


MICROCOPY   RISOIUTION   TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


^    APPLIED  IIVHGE 


Inc 


16S3  East  Main  Stmt 

Roch«t«r.  Naw  York        U609       USA 

(716)  482  -  0300  -  Phon« 

(716)  288 -5989 -Fax 


78 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


I    I      ! 

i 


would  seek  to  explain  his  meaning  by  signs  and 
gestures.  He  wrote  so  ill  a  hand  that  one  day  I  in- 
quired how  much  had  been  spent  upon  his  education  ; 
and  this  was  the  only  occasion  I  knew  him  to  answer 
with  an  oath — yet  even  that  was  a  word  of  one  syllable. 
I  was  called  Job  because  my  father  could  not  discover 
a  shorter  name ;  although  he  satisfied  his  love  for 
brevity  by  addressing  me  as  J.  He  gave  me  only  two 
pieces  of  advice,  and  both  were  useless.  The  first  was, 
never  use  two  words  when  one  will  serve  your  purpose  ; 
and  the  second,  laugh  all  your  life  at  love.  These 
pieces  of  advice  I  followed,  lady,  until  I  presently 
discovered  that  a  man  of  one  word  is  apt  to  t^  treated 
shortly  by  his  fellows,  and  when  a  man  laughs  at  love, 
all  women  laugh  at  him." 

"  Was  not  your  father  something  of  an  oddity  ?  " 
inquired  Ruth. 

"  He  was,  lady,  and  for  that  reason  I  describe  him 
to  you ;  for  you  must  know  a  son  inherits  some  part  of 
his  father's  character.  Old  Ned,  as  the  author  of  my 
being  styled  himself,  with  his  accustomed  shortness, 
was  what  is  known  as  a  regular  being.  He  rose  at  seven, 
breakfasted  at  eight,  walked  until  two,  dined  at  that 
hour,  dozed  till  four,  drank  coffee  at  Tom's  at  six, 
retired  to  bed  at  nine.  And  that  was  his  whole  life. 
He  allowed  himself  one  pinch  of  snuff  before  breakfast, 
two  pinches  before  dinner,  three  during  the  after- 
noon, and  four  going  to  bed.  You  are  now  as  well 
acquainted  with  this  man  of  brevity — who  would,  I  be- 
lieve, have  taken  the  name  of  Short,  had  it  not  been 
for  purposes  of  business  longer  than  Cay — as  I  am 
myself. 

"My  mother  ruled  the  household,  for  she  had  early 
joined  a  Society  of  Married  Ladies,  who  agreed  among 
themselves  that  every  altercation  between  husband 
and  wife  should  be  settled  by  the  members  at  their 
weekly  meeting,  the  husband  not  being  admitted  to 
avoid  contention.    My  father  retired  from  the  contest 


A  SAD  DOG  TELLS  HIS  STORY 


79 


when  he  discovered  his  wife  was  able  to  bring  the 
weight  and  influence  of  the  Society  to  bear  against  him ; 
and  he  refrained  from  a.gument  because  it  upset  the 
regularity  of  his  1"  'e,  and  he  was  unable  to  do  justice  to 
his  intelligence  by  the  use  of  monosyllables.  Therefore 
it  happened  that  my  career  was  marred  at  the  outset 
by  the  folly  and  ignorance  of  a  doting  mother.  Had 
she  been  blessed  with  a  large  family,  my  mother  would 
have  distributed  that  affection,  which  she  lavished 
entirely  upon  me,  tho  only  child.  My  father  sent  me  to 
school,  but  during  the  first  winter  my  mother  brought 
me  away,  fearing  lest  I  should  suffer  from  the  cold ; 
and  when  I  informed  her  the  master  had  whipped  me 
for  some  fault,  she  would  not  suffer  me  to  return. 
Finding  me  not  unwilling  to  resume  my  studies,  she 
relented ;  but  when  I  showed  her  my  books,  she  declared 
immediately  that  her  darling  should  not  injure  his 
fine  eyes — so  she  was  pleased  to  style  them — by 
poring  over  the  nasty  barbarous  letters  of  the  Greek 
language.  My  case  was  referred  to  the  Society,  and 
when  the  President  had  informed  my  mother  that 
Greek  and  Latin  had  been  written  by  the  heathen,  she 
cast  my  school  books  at  once  upon  the  fire,  and 
decided  to  undertake  herself  my  education.  The 
only  classic  with  which  she  was  acquainted  chanced 
to  be  Hoyle's  Short  Treatise  upon  Whist ;  and  this,  I 
will  confess,  she  taught  me  thoroughly. 

"  I  was  approaching  manhood,  and  winning  the 
character  of  a  fine  gentleman,  when  I  was  deprived  of 
both  my  parents  by  the  smallpox.  They  died  within 
a  week  of  each  other,  and  it  was  well  my  mother  did 
not  survive  her  husband  who,  as  I  speedily  discovered, 
had  i  ivested  his  savings  in  an  annuity,  and  had  been 
unable  to  discover  words  sufficiently  short  to  acquaint 
his  wife  and  son  of  the  fact  that  his  death  would  make 
them  paupers.  My  father,  who  desired  to  give  me  a 
full  education,  I  now  despise ;  for  my  mother,  who  forced 
ignorance  upon  me,  and  taught  me  gambling,  I  have  the 


8o 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


I 


kindliest  feeling.  But  I  have  come  to  hate  Hoyle's 
treatise,  and  with  all  my  soul  I  loathe  the  Society 
of  Married  Ladies.  The  advice  I  received  from  my 
father  you  have  heard.  The  maxims  instilled  into  me 
by  my  mother  were,  to  avoid  a  cold,  a  quarrel,  and 
a  naughty  woman.  The  young  man  who  escapes  this 
trinity  of  mischief  is  not  mortal. 

"  I  was  now  in  my  eighteenth  year  left  entirely 
dependent  on  my  uncle,  an  old  bachelor  who  is  almost 
as  great  an  oddity  as  his  brother.  He  received  me 
at  his  home  near  Salisbury  with  a  great  deal  of  kind- 
ness and,  not  being  himself  conspicuous  for  learning, 
failed  to  observe  my  ignorance  untU  certain  of  his  friends 
spoke  to  him  on  the  subject.  He  then  decided  to  send 
me  to  the  curate  of  an  adjoining  parish  for  one  year,  in 
order  that  I  might  complete  the  education  which  I  had 
never  properly  commenced,  and  before  parting  with  me 
promised  to  leave  me  a  great  part  of  his  fortune  if 
I  continued  to  please  him.  Placed  with  my  tutor, 
a  kind  and  worthy  man,  I  made  but  slow  progress, 
for  he  was  a  scholar  while  I  was  a  dunce,  and  he 
attempted  to  bring  me  to  the  top  of  the  ladder 
before  I  could  with  safety  balance  upon  the  lowest 
rung.  However,  I  learnt  as  much  as  I  could,  and 
returned  to  my  uncle  at  the  expiration  of  the  year, 
with  the  intention  of  showing  him  I  had  not  neglected 
my  opportimities  for  improvement. 

"  From  that  time  nothing  went  well  with  me.  I 
was  nineteen,  and  desirous  of  airing  my  knowledge ; 
so  I  talked  against  my  uncle  and  his  friends,  and, 
having  a  good  memory,  repeated  many  of  the  phrases 
I  had  gathered  from  the  lips  of  my  worthy  tutor.  I 
talked  for  victory,  but  ended  with  defeat.  My  uncle 
grew  old  and  quarrelsome,  and  had  been  always 
master  at  his  table.  His  friends,  recognising  that 
he  had  no  conversation,  did  not  cross  him,  while 
I  contradicted  him  even  upon  such  a  matter  as  the 
proper  time  for  sowing  peas  and  beans,  although  I 


A  SAD  DOG  TELLS  HIS  STORY 


8i 


?* 


had  no  knowledge  of  that  art.  Soon  I  experienced 
nothing  but  the  severest  treatment.  If  I  disctissed 
a  subject,  I  was  called  presumptuous.  If  I  remained 
silent,  I  was  styled  a  sullen  dog.  I  endured  this  harsh- 
ness with  as  much  patience  as  I  coiud  show,  until 
the  old  gentleman  took  to  upbraiding  me  for  an 
ungrateful  scoundrel  before  the  servants ;  and,  per- 
ceiving at  last  he  had  taken  a  strong  dislike  to  ire,  I 
retired  to  the  house  of  a  gentleman  who  had  snown 
me  kindness  and  requested  him  to  find  me  some  em- 
plojmient.  This  he  very  politely  promised  to  do,  and 
I  then  disclosed  the  treatment  I  had  received  from 
my  uncle.  He  frowned  at  this,  and  desired  me  to  seek 
a  reconciliation.  Instead  of  doing  so,  I  sent  a  message 
to  inform  my  imcle  I  could  no  longer  seek  the  hospi- 
tality of  a  relation  who  had  daily  reproached  me 
with  poverty  and  reminded  me  I  was  dependent  upon 
his  bounty.  The  same  day  one  of  his  servants  brought 
me  a  guinea  wrapped  in  paper,  upon  which  I  found 
written  a  few  angry  words  announcing  his  intention 
of  cutting  me  off  entirely.  I  showed  this  with  a  laugh 
to  the  gentleman  with  whom  I  stayed,  but  he  made 
no  answer,  and  presently  foimd  an  excuse  for  leaving 
me.  Nor  did  we  meet  again,  for  he  sent  his  butler  to 
inform  me  he  was  setting  out  for  town  immediately, 
and  fdt  obliged  to  state  he  could  not  foresee  any 
opportimity  for  continuing  our  friendship.  The  next 
day  I  cast  myself  upon  the  world,  with  a  pack  of  cards 
in  one  pocket,  and  a  guinea  in  the  other.  You  have 
now  listened  to  my  story." 

"  I  was  promising  myself,"  said  Ruth,  "  that  the 
most  interesting  part  was  yet  to  come." 

"  I  have  concluded  the  history  of  my  gentlehood," 
replie  ay.  "  What  follows  is  the  memoir  of  a  sad 
dog ;  a  record  of  ordinary  adventure  such  as  falls  to 
the  lot  of  every  homeless  rascal.  It  would  be  tedious 
telling,  and  might  make  no  pleasant  hearing.  For 
three  years  I  have  done  battle  with  the  world,  giving 


82 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


and  receiving  wounds.  Yesterday  I  believed  myself 
defeated ;  but  thanks  to  you  I  live  to  fight  again — 
with  greater  courage." 

"  And  with  honesty  ?  " 

"  Ay^  that  too  may  help." 

"  You  have  escaped  from  prison  !  " 

"  In  an  ill  moment,  and  half  starving,  I  snatched  a 
purse  from  a  fat  parson  who  rolled  beside  the  wall  of 
Exeter.  I  did  not  perceive  he  had  a  dog  with  him, 
and  the  brute  brought  me  down  when  I  sought  to  run. 
While  awaiting  the  scaffold  I  managed  to  escape." 

"  You  would  surely  have  been  hanged,"  she  shud- 
dered. 

"  The  laws  of  this  country  would  murder  every  man 
of  spirit.  The  person  swore  I  had  threatened  to  slit  his 
throat,  though  I  spoke  no  word ;  while  another  man 
appeared  against  me,  and  took  his  oath  I  had  also 
robbed  him,  though  I  had  never  set  eyes  upon  his 
lying  face  before.  'Tis  ill,  mistress,  to  commit  a  crime  ; 
for  that  one  breeds  a  score  of  damning  charges." 

"  How  have  you  earned  a  living  ?  "  she  asked 
pityingly. 

"  In  this  way  and  that,"  he  replied  evasively.  "  I 
have  lately  set  up  as  a  mountebank.  I  got  some  honest 
shillings  by  the  cards,  so  I  bought  a  few  dozen  boxes 
of  pills  which  I  believed  would  do  no  hurt,  and  a 
parcel  of  blistering-plasters.  I  bought  also  an  old 
drum,  and  hired  a  one-legged  sailor  tO  beat  it ;  but 
the  rascal  stole  my  drum  and  I  doubt  not  parted  with  it 
for  a  dram.  So  I  set  out  alone  into  the  country, 
finding  too  many  practitioners  in  the  town,  and  passed 
through  the  villages  until  I  reached  Exeter ;  having 
by  then  exhausted  my  stock  of  pills  and  plasters, 
and  finding  myself  again  without  money,  for  my 
capital  had  been  spent  upon  food  and  lodging." 

"  Shall  you  persevere  in  the  same  profession  when 
you  go  from  here  ?  "  asked  Ruth,  unable  to  conceal  her 
interest,  and  supposing,  in  innocence,  that  a  mounte- 


A  SAD  DOG  TELLS  HIS  STORY 


83 


bank  was  equally  as  expert  as  any  neniber  of  the 
Surgeons'  College. 

"  I  should  do  so  if  I  could  obtain  a  few  guineas," 
he  said  eagerly.  "  I  would  then  hire  a  room  and 
compound  my  own  blisicring-plasters  after  a  novel  and 
ingenious  style.  I  should  require  plaster,  vinegar  of 
squills,  cantharides,  with  a  plentiful  stock  of  strong 
linen  upon  which  to  spread  the  mixture.  I  find  the 
country  folk  buy  them  gladly.  There  is  a  fortune  to  be 
had,  mistress,  by  these  same  blistering-plasters,  and 
I  could  prepare  a  vast  number  in  one  day." 

"  What  ailments  do  they  cure  ?  "  asked  Ruth. 

"  Nay,  you  must  not  tease  me  with  such  questions. 
It  is  enough  for  me  to  do  the  selling.  I  enter  a  village 
and  address  the  first  dame  I  meet,  somewhat  after 
this  style : 

" '  Well-a-day,  my  good  woman,  I  see  you  are  hipped. 
I  am  the  famous  Doctor  Alexander  the  Great,  of  whom 
I  doubt  not  you  have  heard.  I  have  cured  all  London 
town,  and  am  now  come  to  cure  you.  What,  think 
you,  is  the  nature  of  your  complaint  ? ' 

"  '  Why,  doctor,'  says  she.  '  I  am  well  enough.  I 
have  no  sickness  that  I  know  of.' 

" '  I  can  tell  you  are  going  to  have  a  violent  fever,' 
say  I.  '  Your  face  is  hot,  and  your  breathing  short. 
Put  out  your  tongue.  Ah  !  Ah  !  I  was  afraid  of  it. 
'Tis  what  I  thought.  Open  your  mouth  wide  that  I 
may  look  down  your  throat.' 

"  The  good  soul  obeys,  for  she  grows  alarmed.  I 
glance  at  her  tongue,  explore  her  throat,  and  my  face 
becomes  solemn  as  I  say  : 

" '  I  see  clearly  enough.  Yes,  yes,  my  poor  woman, 
I  see  !  I  see  !  ' 

What  do  ye  see,  doctor  ?  '  cries  the  dame. 

'"I  see  the  great  avenue  to  the  vital  organs ;  the 
high  road,  madam,  to  your  belly  which,  I  '^o  assure 
you,  upon  my  professional  honour,  is  most  '  .evously 
infiamed.' 


84 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


" '  What  be  I  to  do  for  it  ? '  she  asks.  '  To  tell  ye 
the  truth,  doctor,  I  do  be  feeling  a  bit  uneasy  there.' 

Before  my  time,'  say  I,  '  your  case  would  have 
been  hopeless.  'Tis  a  peculiarity  of  this  disease, 
which  I  find  most  common,  that  the  patient  feels  no 
pain  till  the  inflammation  reaches  the  heart.  Now, 
niy  good  woman,  you  may  be  swiftly  cured  by  a 
single  application  of  Doctor  Alexander's  stimulating 
and  emollient  blistering-plaster.  One  guinea  to  the 
rich  ;  one  shilling  to  the  poor ;  long  life  for  all.' 

"  Immediately  she  buys  a  plaster  and  goes  away 
home  in  a  mighty  bustle ;  while  I  pass  on  to  seek 
another  patient.  I  address  myself  to  women  only, 
for  I  find  them  better  listeners  than  their  husbands. 
But  as  evening  approaches  I  have  half  the  men  in 
the  place  about  me  ;  some  sent  by  their  wives,  others 
brought  by  their  ailments;  and  I  am  not  slow  to 
discover  that  my  pills  and  plasters  will  cure  them  all. 
If  I  had  but  five  guineas  I  would  lav  them  out  on 
plasters  and  acquire  a  fortune." 

"  Five  guineas,"  Ruth  murmured  absently.  "  That 
is  not  much." 

"  For  the  -ich  man  nothing.   To  the  unfortunate  who 

hides  from  the  law "    He  broke  off,  then  added 

sorrowfully,  "  I  perceive  I  have  lost  your  interest." 

"  Do  not  say  so,"  she  said,  rising  in  some  agitation, 
yet  looking  away  from  him  and  listening.  "  I  believe 
I  too  am  haunted,"  she  whispered.  These  several 
minutes  I  seem  to  have  heard  from  time  to  time  the 
sound  of  footsteps." 

''  It  is  not  evening  yet,"  he  muttered,  also  rising. 

"  I  know  the  master's  step— 'tis  slow  and  dragging. 
This  was  quick,  yet  heavy." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  dear  lady, 
whatever,"  he  said  encouragingly. 

"  I  know  not  which  way  to  turn 
open.  .  .  ." 

More  she  would  have  said,  but  that  moment  came 


I  hear  no  sound 
The  doors  stand 


A  SAD  DOG  TELLS  HIS  STOP 


85 


a  knocking  which  filled  the  room  where  they  were 
standing,  and  passed  with  solemn  echoes  through 
the  house. 

"  Run  I  "  she  gasped.  "  I  pray  you  hide— but  do 
not  km." 

"  Shall  I  not  stay  to  protect  you  ?  " 

"  Your  discovery  ruins  us  both.  Escape  into  the 
bushes.  You  cannot  reach  the  loft— that  way  is 
barred." 

The  knocking  had  ceased ;  and  now  a  heavy  footstep 
sounded  in  the  passage.  Cay  reached  for  his  hat, 
snatched  a  knife,  and  ran. 

"  The  ghost !  "  Ruth  whispered,  shrinking  back. 
"  But  why  does  he  haunt  me  ?  " 

"  Ruth  Grambla  I  Are  you  within  ?  "  a  voice  called 
sternly. 

"  I  am  here,  sir.  I  am  coming,"  she  said  faintly, 
and  stepped  forward ;  but,  before  she  could  reach 
the  door  leading  to  the  back  part  of  the  house,  a  tall 
dark  stranger  stood  there  ;  and  he  was  clad  after  the 
fashion  of  a  Romish  priest. 

"  You  were  long  in  answering  my  knock,"  he  said. 

"  Sir,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Ruth  faintly. 

"  My  food  maid,  I  hope  you  are  honest,"  the  priest 
continued. 

*-    ' ' "  *his  house  all  day  alone ;  I  serve  my  father ; 
^        ii  ;r  life,"  she  faltered. 
n:         cried  the  priest.    "  Who  is  that  yoimg 

-*s  just  departed  from  you  ?  " 
thmk,  sir— I  believe,  sir,  you  are  deceived," 
Ruth  stammered. 

"  I  believe  so  indeed  ;  but  by  you,  Ruth  Grambla," 
said  the  priest  more  sternly.  "  I  have  watched  you 
both  from  outside  this  window  a  long  while.  He  was 
telling  you  the  story  of  his  life." 

"  Su-,  I  will  tell  you  no  lies,"  she  cried  bravely.  "  He 
is  a  poor  gentleman,  who  has  sinned  a  little,  but  has 
suffered  much  from  others.    He  came  here  by  chance, 


"I 
Ihav 

man 
"I 


86 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


starving  and  exhausted;  I  gave  him  food  and  shelter- 
Kind  sir,  do  not  tell  my  father,  or  I  am  ruined." 

"  You  are  confessing  to  me,  therefore  I  cannot  tell 
your  father.  Truth  brings  a  great  reward,  Ruth 
Grambla,"  said  the  priest  gently.  "  I  believe  you  are 
honest.  I  know  you  have  served  faithfully  a  man  who 
has  never  rewarded  you  with  the  least  affection.  I 
come  to  bless  your  life,  and  not  to  curse  it.  You  do 
not  know  me  ?  " 

"  Sir,  I  have  never  seen  you  before." 

"  I  come  to  bring  you  a  message,  and  not  to  spy 
upon  you.  I  would  have  you  know,  Ruth  Grambla, 
you  are  not  friendless.  God  has  his  agents  upon  earth 
to  help  the  weak  and  fatherless.  I  am  to  tell  you  that 
a  friend,  more  powerful  than  the  meagre  Grambla, 
watches  over  you.  In  every  community  there  are  men 
who  seek  to  ruin  the  lives  of  others ;  but  when  one  who 
tries  to  do  good— even  by  the  power  of  magic  and 
enchantment— stands  at  the  head  of  that  community, 
the  evil-doer  shall  not  go  too  far.  I  give  you  peace, 
child.  When  you  are  in  need  of  me  I  shall  come  to  you. 
But  be  not  too  open  with  this  stranger ;  do  not  offer 
him  too  much.    For  he  may  yet  deceive  you." 

The  mysterious  stranger  departed  by  the  way  he 
had  come  ;  and  Ruth  was  left  alone  in  the  kitchen, 
standing  between  firelight  and  sunshine,  with  her  body 
also  full  of  light  and  burning. 


CHAPTER  X 


SIR  THOMAS  OPFNS  HIS  BOOK 

Bezurrel  Castle  stood  upon  a  slight  eminence,  and 
from  a  window  of  the  dining-room,  placed  at  the 
comer  towards  the  church-town,  both  avenues  leading 
to  the  main  entrance  lay  open.  While  Sir  Thomas 
breakfasted  alone,  in  the  foreign  style  to  which  he  had 
grown  accustomed,  he  glanced  from  time  to  time  along 
the  approach  ascending  from  his  woodlands ;  and 
presently  he  shook  a  little  bell. 

A  black  man,  clothed  in  white,  and  looking  every 
inch  the  servant  for  a  wizard,  responded ;  and  his 
master  asked  in  the  terrible  language  of  magicians, 
which  nevertheless  the  meanest  Frenchman  might 
have  comprehended,  "  Is  little  Twitcher  in  the 
kitchen  ?  " 

"  I  believe,  your  h^/nour,  he  is  walking  in  the  park." 

"  Bid  him  coimne  himself  to  his  room  for  the  present. 
Two  gentleman  are^about  to  wait  upon  me.  I  desire 
you  to  admit  them  to  me  here." 

Black  withdrew,  and  White  leaned  his  elbows  upon 
the  table  to  watch  pair  of  loitering  figures  which 
were  not  of  one  r  d ;  f or  the  taller  and  weaker 
seemed  inclined  to  retreat,  while  the  other  urged 
him  on,  finally  locking  an  arm  within  his,  and  using 
somethhig  stronger  than  persuasion  until  they  felt 
the  eyes  of  the  windows  upon  them,  and  then  the  taller 
was  allowed  to  go  free.  At  once  he  dro^jped  behind 
his  champion,  and  walked  like  one  who  suddenly 
discovered  beauty  in  hiL  ooo^s. 
^^  Thomas  was  satisfied  b]'  this  unwilling  tribute 

87 


88 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


to  his  powers,  yet  the  true  index  to  his  character 
expressed  contempt. 

'  A  pity,"  said  he,  "  that  men  of  the  country,  both 
small  and  great,  should  suffer  their  souls  to  be  con- 
sumed by  superstition.  Our  yeomen  are  brave  in 
body,  but  cowards  in  mind ;  they  will  face  cold  steel 
without  a  tremor,  yet  run  from  a  rustling  leaf  at 
night.  Brave  bodies  are  the  result  of  centuries  given 
to  ck  il  warfare ;  cowardly  minds  are  the  inheritance 
of  igi^'^rance.  The  countryman  lives  in  the  world 
which  God  created,  but  does  not  see  it ;  for  he  staggers 
along  a  path  of  his  own  fancy,  lighted  by  his  wild 
imagination ;  hb  body  wide  awake,  his  mind  just 
conscious.  If  the  scholar  would  rule  this  sleeping 
congregation,  he  must  descend  to  cunning  and  play 
upon  then- fears." 

The  magician  ceased  his  musings,  for  the  door 
opened,  and  two  gentlemen  were  annoimced. 

"  John  Qabar,  I  am  pleased  to  welcome  you.    Nay, 
if  you  please,  I  shake  hands  with  Peter  first.    This 
son  may  not  wait  until  his  father  has  been  honoured. 
I  am  not  sorry,  sir,  you  have  no  son.    Your  daughter 
makes  amends." 
"  My  friend !  The  gentleman  of  the  inn ! "  cried  Cherry. 
"  Whose  cloak  you  mended." 
"  It  was  but  a  poor  return,"  she  stammered.    "  I 
am  bewildered.    Sir  Thomas,  here  is  my  father." 

"  Why,  John  Clabar,  do  you  fear  me  ?  Come,  sir, 
you  are  an  honest  man,  and  can  look  one  in  the  face. 
You  and  your  daughter  are  welcome  to  Bezurrel." 

"  I  thank  you.  Sir  Thomas,"  whispered  Clabar. 
"  Sir,  I  know  your  powers.  My  daughter,  sir,  did 
not  wish  to  deceive  you.  I  was  assured  you  would 
tell  her  sex  before  we  entered-  i  house.  This  disguise, 
sir,  is  to  protect  her  against  our  enemy." 

"  You  do  not  understand,  father.  Sir  Thomas  is 
the  kind  gentleman  who  met  me  upon  the  road,  and 
invited  me  to  be  his  guest." 


SIR  THOMAS  OPENS  HIS  BOOK 


89 


"  Nay,  I  forced  you." 

"  Ah  I  but  there  was  magic  in  that  too."  muttered 
Clabar. 

"  My  father,  sir,  has  lived  alone  so  long,"  ^aid  she, 
"  that  I  fear  he  has  forgot  his  manners." 

"  Nay,  child  t  I  am  a  Clabar  of  Coinagehall,"  the 
father  replied,  stepping  forward  from  the  wall,  against 
which  he  had  been  standing  like  a  full-length  Tx>rtrait. 
"  Sir,  our  ancestors  were  friendly.  There  was  l  broken 
place  in  the  hedge  where  my  father  would  cross  to 
visit  yours." 

"  And  that  is  a  high  road,  John  Clabar,  which  is 
ever  open  between  son  and  son,"  added  Sir  Thomas, 
as  their  hands  met. 

"  Sir,  I  have  not  deserved  this  kindness.  Speak 
for  me.  Cherry,"  said  Clabar,  i  .treating  again  towards 
the  w£dl. 

"  I  speak  first  for  myself,"  she  said.  "  Sir  Thomas, 
I  would  have  deceived  you,  but  could  not ;  (or  you 
set  so  many  traps  about  me,  and  I  fell  into  the  most 
womanly  of  them  all.  You  compelled  me  to  forget 
my  part,  and  caught  me  with  a  needle.  I  feel  no 
shame  at  being  trapped  by  you." 

"  Because  I  possess  a  certain  power  of  divination  ?  " 

"Indeed,  I  believe  that  is  true.  But  did  you  not 
also  deceive  me  ?  Were  you  not  disguised  as  a  stranger 
whom  I  might  not  expect  to  see  again  ?  " 

"  My  disguise  was  so  thin  that  a  questior  to  the 
innkeeper  might  have  pierced  it.  I  did  not  te'".  you 
my  name,  for  I  desired  to  learn  whetliei  you  would 
find  the  courage  to  wait  upon  me  here,  it  is  common 
talk  in  Moyle  that  the  man  or  woman  who  enters 
Bezurrel  must  leave  in  a  different  form.  What  say 
you,  John  ?  " 

"  Sir,  that  is  truth." 

"  When  my  father  and  I  depart  we  shall  be 
different  beings,"  said  Cherry.  "  We  shall  be  happy, 
and  there  is  as  great  difference  between  wretched 


90 


MCYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


and  happy  people  as  there  is  between  a  man  and  a 
brute." 

II  What  is  there  here  which  shall  make  you  happy  ?  " 

"  Your  kindness  and  assistance.  I  do  not  fear 
your  voice,  Sir  Thomas,  because  I  know  your  heart. 
Peter  beholds  a  frowning  gentleman,  but  his  sister 
Cherry  spies  a  smiling  friend.  The  gentleman  of 
the  inn  cannot  disguise  his  real  nature  by  transforming 
himself  into  Sir  Thomas  Just,  the  lord  of  Moyle 
Church-town." 

"  The  traveller  may  wear  a  skin  which  he  puts  off 
at  home."  ^  . 

"  But  he  cannot  change  his  birth-marks.  You 
promised  me  friendship;  we  are  both  Catholics. 
You  would  not  wish  to  break  the  promise — ^you 
could  not  unless  you  forswore  your  faith." 
^^  "  You  have  answered  well,"  said  Su"  Thomas. 
"  Clabar,  be  proud  of  your  daughter.  She  was  bom 
when  the  planets  were  ambitious." 

"  She  came  into  this  world,  sir,  upon  a  wild  and 
stormy  night,  and  her  life  meant  death  to  my  poor 
lady."  ^  ^ 

"Few  lives  begin  and  end  with  storm,"  replied 
Sir  Thomas.  "  It  is  better  to  face  ill  weather  on 
the  outward  voyage,  when  the  ship  is  empty,  than 
to  be  cast  upon  the  rocks  returning  home,  and  lose  the 
cargo.  You  seek  my  assistance,"  he  went  on  sharply. 
"  You  desire  me  to  raise  a  storm  which  shall  wreck 
your  enemy,  and  to  find  you  a  harbour  where  you 
may  safely  lie.    Will  you  follow  me  ?  " 

"It  is  folly  talking,"  muttered  Clabar,  as  thek 
grave  host  led  the  way.  "  To  this  man  all  our  thoughts 
have  tongues." 

Sir  Thomas  brought  them  into  the  library,  a  long 
room  somewhat  ill-lighted,  for  the  'vindows  were 
stained  glass.  As  they  entered  a  grey-bearded  man 
poring  over  a  volume  rose ;  he  bowed  and  withdrew, 
after  one  searching  glance  at  Cherry's  face  and  figure. 


SIR  THOMAS  OPENS  HIS  BOOK 


91 


"  Father  Benedict— my  chaplain.  A  worthy  man, 
and  still  more  worthy  priest,"  explained  Sir  Thomas. 

"  Is  the  chapel  near  ?  "  asked  Cherry  eagerly. 

"  Presently  I  wUl  lead  you  there,  and  show  you  the 
private  pathway  from  the  garden.  Mass  is  said  at 
eight,  and  Compline  at  nine.  A  place  shall  be  reserved 
for  you." 

Clabar  shivered  at  these  words  which  suggested 
witchcraft  to  his  simple  mind ;  for  at  such  services, 
he  supposed,  all  manner  of  unquiet  spirits  were  sum- 
moned from  their  graves.  He  trembled  also  before 
the  shelves  of  dark  and  terrible  books  ;  and  when  Sir 
Thomas  lifted  a  great  volume  upon  a  desk  and  opened 
it  with  great  solemnity,  his  courage  failed  entirely, 
and  he  would  certainly  have  fled  had  not  Cherry  held 
him. 

"  Here  is  a  library  of  rare  books ;  many  in  the 
black-letter,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  noticing  Clabar's 
fear. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  sir." 

"  With  much  potent  magic  !  " 

"  Ay,  sir,  I  warrant  you." 

Sir  Thomas  appeared  to  be  studying  the  characters 
of  the  book  before  him.  Presently  he  raised  his  head 
and  after  a  glance  at  Cherry  which  showed  him  she 
was  imder  the  same  spell  as  her  father — bewildered  by 
the  odour  of  dry  books  and  startled  at  his  conduct 
— ^he  proceeded  to  speak  slowly  : 

"  Magicians  of  old  have  recorded  the  actions  of 
human  lives,  so  that  all  we  do,  or  think,  or  say  may  be 
found  written  and  explained  in  their  books  of  know- 
ledge.  Draw  near  me,  John.   Consider  this  character." 

"  I  behold  it,"  whispered  Clabar  falsely ;  for  he 
stood  three  yards  away. 

"  You  have  been  bound  to  Grambla  twenty  years 
— this  dark  and  crooked  letter,  mark  you,  stands  for 
that  scoundrel.  Here  I  discover  the  estate  of  Coinage- 
hall  falling  into  decay ;  the  rightful  owner  separated 


92 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


from  it  by  this  cryptic  sign,  which  may  reveal  a  deed 
got  by  fraud,  or  ahnost  any  act  of  villainy," 

"  I  would  give  a  thousand  guineas,  had  I  so  much, 
for  the  eyes  to  read  that  book,"  whispered  Clabar. 

"  Cherry  is  here  implied  by  this  symbol,"  the  sage 
continued.  "  It  is  a  sign  dominating  the  whole  page. 
It  touches  my  life  here— this  mark,  you  must  know, 
is  commonly  used  to  signify  a  wizard— and  here.  Ah  i 
what  do  I  see  ?  Here  is  a  sign  which  baffles  me.  My 
lady  shall  read  it,  for  she  is  more  skilled  in  this  style 
of  letters  than  myself.  Mistress  Clabar,  I  pray  you 
walk  warily  as  Peter,  and  as  Cherry  I  beg  you  be  most 
careful ;  lest  you  bring  trouble  on  me  and  upon  mv 
house." 

"  That  I  will  never  do,"  she  murmured.  "  You  will 
tell  me  what  you  see." 

"  As  I  may  only  read  the  stars  when  the  night  is 
clear,  so  I  cannot  speak  when  the  text  is  clouded," 
said  Sir  Thomas  in  the  same  deep  voice.  "  I  warn 
you,  and  pass  on." 

He  turned  the  page,  then  said  with  a  change  of 
manner,  "  Why,  John,  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  are  given 
notice  to  quit  your  cottage.  You  are  become  a  home- 
less man." 

"  Sir,  this  is  the  business  my  daughter  and  I  came 
upon  ;  as,  sir,  you  very  well  know." 

"  In  the  spring  of  the  year  birds  build  their  nests ; 
it  is  the  season  of  home  life.  I  met  a  wise  man  once, 
who  told  me  we  are  in  some  measure  related  to  the 
birds ;  because,  said  he,  kinship  must  exist  between 
two-legged  creatures.  Birds  and  human  beings  alike 
sing  in  sunshine  and  are  peevish  in  foul  weather.  Both 
wear  fine  feathers  when  they  go  a-courting,  both 
must  have  a  home  to  protect  theu:  young.  But  we 
desire  a  home  always,  and  custom  has  made  one  neces- 
sary, unless  we  are  birds  of  prey,  like  the  highwayman, 
who  hovers  upon  the  road  to  strike  his  weaker  kind! 
It  is  written  that  you  come  to  me  in  the  sprmg,  asking 


SIR  THOMAS  OPENS  HIS  BOOK 


93 


for  materials  to  build  your  nest,  and  a  place — ^here  in- 
deed is  a  tree,  but  you  are  not  birds-— a  place  in  my 
woods  of  Bezurrel  for  your  home." 

"  I  know  you  are  a  prophet  and  a  wizard,"  cried 
Cherry.  "  For  you  can  tell  the  future  and  read^our 
secret  thoughts." 

"  The  mind  is  a  great  mansion  containing  many 
rooms  of  mystery,"  said  Sur  Thomas,  closing  the  musty 
volume.  "  Many  men  spend  their  lives  in  the  hall. 
Few  proceed  further  than  the  outward  rooms.  None 
fully  explore  their  own  property.  All  are  sometimes 
frightened  when  the  doors  are  opened." 

"Sir,  will  you  tell  my  future?"  asked  Cherry 
boldly. 

"  The  book  is  closed,"  replied  the  magician.  "  Con- 
sider for  a  moment.  We  are  happiest  when  we  antici- 
pate, when  we  make  our  future,  and  rely  upon  the 
pleasures  of  imagination.  A  knowledge  of  the  future 
would  destroy  every  form  of  happiness.  The  mind 
lives  its  own  life  apart ;  and  it  lives  in  a  world  our 
bodies  cannot  enter.  You  have  loved  a  woman,  Clabar. 
What  was  the  world  of  wonder  your  mind  then 
wandered  in  ?  A  very  different  land  from  this  where 
your  two  bodies  suffered.  To  know  the  future  might 
be  to  kill  the  separate  existence  of  the  mind.  If  the 
book  was  lying  open  by  your  hand,  you  would  not 
take  it — ^you  could  not  dare  to  read." 

"  I  would  take  it ;  but  the  same  moment  I  might 
pray  for  blindness,"  Cherry  murmured. 

"  The  confession  betrays  your  sex,"  replied  Sir 
Thomas.  Then  he  asked,  "  What  is  that  parcel  you 
are  holding  ?  " 

"  If  I  answer,  sir,  I  may  be  wasting  breath." 

"  You  might  have  done  so  with  less  use  of  breath  ; 
for  you  could  have  answered  with  the  one  word — gold." 

"  A  small  sum,  sir,  as  you  know  ;  but  the  savings 
of  twenty  years,"  said  Clabar. 

"Tainted  money  honourably  won.    It  is  a  danger 


94 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


to  be  carrying  that  parcel ;  for  guineas  betray  them- 
selves by  clinking.  This  jingle  is  the  miser's  rhyme, 
and  the  call-bell  of  the  robber.  You  desire  me  to 
make  an  investment  for  you  ?  " 

"  We  have  no  home,  sir,  and  can  find  no  place  to 
hide  our  guineas.    Will  you  take  charge  of  them,  and 
allow  my  father  to  draw  upon  you  ?  " 
"  If  you  lend  me  money,  I  must  pay  you  interest." 
"  You  pay  that,  sir,  already  with  your  kindness." 
"  I  will  protect  your  guineas,  and  my  steward  shall 
render  you  an  account.    But  this  is  not  the  matter 
which  you  come  on.    In  Moyle  you  have  an  enemy, 
and  you  seek  to  hide  from  him." 

"  Not  to  hide,"  said  Cherry,  "  but  to  find  a  place 
where  we  may  live  in  safety.  Grambla  considers  that 
Coinagehall  has  now  become  his  lawful  property 
because  he  has  employed  my  father  all  these  years. 
He  is  a  religious  man,  and  after  this  fashion  he  satisfies 
his  conscience.  Now  he  will  strive  his  utmost  to  drive 
us  away  from  Moyle,  for  we  are  the  last  of  the  Clabars, 
and  with  our  disappearance  his  title  is  established. 
He  evicts  my  father,  in  the  hope  that  he  may  be 
starved,  or  compelled  into  some  act  of  felony  which 
may  prove  his  ruin ;  and  he  will  put  forth  all  his 
energy  against  me.  As  a  woman  I  could  not  stand 
before  him.  As  a  man  I  must  have  ground  to  stand 
on." 

"  I  am  the  lord  of  this  parish,"  said  Sir  Thomas 
sternly. 

"  True,  sir.  But  Grambla  has  the  influence  which 
you  do  not  exert.  If  we  do  not  live  upon  your  land  he 
must  defeat  us." 

"  How  can  you  hope  to  defeat  him  ?  For  he 
possesses  a  legal  right  to  Coinagehall.  A  title  foimded 
upon  fraud  is  still  a  title." 

"  It  can  be  shaken  by  the  will  of  heaven." 

"  Or  abandoned  by  the  owner  ?  " 

"  Nay,  sir  !  "  said  Clabar  respectfully. 


SIR  THOMAS  OPENS  HIS  BOOK 


95 


"  Not  at  the  voice  of  conscience  ?  " 

"  I  believe  not,  sir." 

"  I  tell  you  it  may.  Permit  a  man  to  indulge  freely 
in  his  passions,  and  he  will  kill  himself.  Reproach  him 
every  day,  and  in  time  he  listens.  Force  him  to  listen, 
and  he  must  be  shaken.  If  every  parishioner  of  Moyle 
called  Grambla  robber,  he  would  not  listen.  Were 
his  own  conscience  to  call  him  rogue,  he  might  believe 
it  true.    You  desire  a  home  beneath  my  protection  ?  " 

"  We  turned  aside  as  we  came  into  your  woodlands," 
began  Cherry. 

"  Sir,  we  had  no  right  there,"  Clabar  faltered. 

"  Perhaps  you  hardly  know  how  fair  the  place  is," 
she  continued.  "  The  woods  are  very  thick  and  descend 
into  sweet  depths.  A  stream  passes  through,  and  its 
banks  are  now  bright  with  primroses." 

"  It  is  true  I  know  little  of  Bezurrel  Woods." 

"  There  will  soon  be  a  summer's  sky  and  warm 
nights  ;  and  while  they  last  we  might  build  and  bur- 
row. Sir,  we  have  a  little  money,  and  it  is  already 
in  your  keeping.  Will  you  grant  us  a  small  piece  of 
your  woodland,  and  take  what  rent  seems  to  you 
right  ?  We  can  raise  some  shelter.  And  we  shall  do 
no  damage,  sir ;  we  shall  not  trap  bird  or  beast,  nor 
destroy  a  single  tree.  Bezurrel  Woods  are  full  of  song 
and  blossom ;  and  there,  sir,  we  might  play  happily 
at  life." 

"  Through  winter  and  wild  weather,  my  child  ?  " 

"  Why  not,  sir  ?  We  may  forget  our  bodies,  and  live 
with  our  minds." 

"  In  poverty,  child  ?  " 

"  The  poor  laugh  more  merrily  than  the  rich,  for 
they  fear  no  losses." 

"  You  would  face  the  realities  of  existence,  and  seek 
to  prove  them  false." 

"  The  realities  of  existence,  sir,  are  love,  mercy, 
knowledge,  for  the  mind  ;  food  to  eat  and  clothes  to 
wear  for  the  body.    I  cannot  prove  to  be  fal^  what 


96 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


God  made  real ;  nor  would  I  try.  We  make  life  a 
tragedy  by  turning  our  back  upon  realities,  not  by 
accepting  them.  I  believe,  sir,  men  and  women  are 
only  true  to  themselves  when  they  meet  in  the  open 
air." 

"  Would  you  invite  them  then  to  remain  with  their 
comrades  the  birds  ?  " 

"  Why  no,  sir,"  said  Cherry  firmly.  "  But  I  would 
ask  them  not  to  wipe  off  Natxu-e  on  the  doormat.   God 
never  created  houses ;  therefore  we  may  be  terrified 
to  lie  in  one.    But  flowers  and  tiees  do  not  frighten 
us  because  God  made  them." 
"  Do  you  not  go  in  terror  of  your  fellow-creatures  ?  " 
"  Because  of  the  false  realities  of  the  devil  in  them, 
sir." 
"  You  have  read  many  books,  Cherry  ?  " 
"  Not  so  many  as  I  could  wish  to  read." 
"  And  have  read  them  wrongly,"  proceeded  Sir 
Thomas.    "  You  would  jest  at  life  because  you  are 
still  young.    You  would  make  a  sport  of  living  because 
your  heart  is  Iree,  and  your  mind  has  not  been  clouded 
yet  by  sorrow.     Love,  mercy,  knowledge  are  great 
realities  indeed;    but  will  surround  us  with  all  the 
suffering  that  the  mind  can  bear.    Happiest  love  must 
one  day  feel  the  woimd  of  separation  ;  tenderest  mercy 
know  the  worst  ingratitude ;  every  avenue  of  know- 
ledge end  in  ignorance." 

"  I  would  not  jest  at  life,  Sir  Thomas.  I  would 
make  it  real  with  happiness,"  she  answered.  "  I  believe 
many  people  leave  a  way  open  to  sorrow.  Nay  more, 
they  prepare  it  'vith  every  possible  diligence,  and  say 
to  themselves,  '  heie  is  sorrow's  pathway.'  They  look 
along  it  every  morning  of  their  lives,  and  wonder  when 
sorrow  will  be  coming,  and  why  sorrow  is  not  yet  in 
sight.  Sir,  they  force  themselves  into  a  state  of  misery, 
and  then  blame  God  for  it.  But  I  would  make  a  broad 
highway  for  happiness,  and  if  sorrow  should  chance 
to  come  near,  I  would  go  out  and  cry,  'No  way! 


SIR  THOMAS  OPENS  HIS  BOOK 


97 


no  way  1  You  shall  not  walk  along  this  road  of  happi- 
ness. 

"  Very  well  indeed,"  Sir  Thomas  munnured,  glanc- 
ing in  some  wonder  at  the  dark  and  sUent  form  of 
Qabar. 

"  Life  would  be  real  in  Bezurrel  Woods  among  the 
birds  and  flowers,"  she  added. 

"  Sickness  and  death,  child  !  " 

"  Not  realities,  for  the  devil  brought  them.  If  my 
father  died,  I  should  weep  indeed,  but  not  for  long ; 
I  would  not  open  sorrow's  pathway.  And  if  I  caught 
the  -mall-pox,  I  would  say  to  my  body, '  lie  you  there 
and  recover,'  and  would  go  for  a  happy  holiday  to 
my  mind." 

"  Youth,  not  wisdom,  speaking,"  Sir  Thomas  mut- 
tered. 

"  That  is  true,  sir.  My  tongue  is  joined  to  my  heart, 
not  to  my  brain.  I  would  rather  live  by  my  heart, 
than  by  all  the  wisdom  of  the  world.  I  would  make 
home  with  my  heart,  and  were  I  queen,  sir,  I  would 
rule  the  people  with  my  heart.  In  Bezunel  Woods  is 
a  pathway  along  which  you  permit  parishioners  to 
waJk ;  but  I  would  allow  no  one  to  enter  by  my  gate 
if  they  brought  sonow  on  their  faces.  I  would  tell 
them  a  smile  is  lighter  than  a  frown,  and  indeed  it  suits 
you  better.  Therefore  take  up  your  smile  here  and 
carry  it." 

"  What  if  they  could  not  be  happy  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  my  business  to  teach  them." 

"  And  suppose  they  could  not  learn  ?  " 

"  Sir,  there  was  never  a  man  nor  woman  bom  who 
could  not  learn  the  simple  task  of  knowing  happiness. 
'Tis  true  thc^.:  may  be  many  unwilling  to  learn,  and 
many  more  who  have  .lot  found  a  teacher.  Sir,  if  one 
man  in  a  crowd  bursts  into  laughter,  all  the  sour  faces 
will  laugh  to  see  his  mirth ;  he  who  laughs  is  the 
master.  But  if  he  should  bid  the  sour  faces  to  laugh, 
they  would  tell  him  to  mind  his  business.   God  created 


98 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


happiness  as  an  act  of  worship  to  Himself;  but  when 
the  devil  also  attempted  to  create  happiness  it  turned 
into  sorrow.  Sir,  melancholy  is  the  worship  of  the 
devil,  and  I'll  have  none  of  it." 

"  The  brain  is  there,"  said  Sir  Thomas.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  silent  Clabar  and  went  on.  "  Go  with 
your  daughter,  and  choose  that  part  of  Bezurrel  Woods 
where  you  would  wish  to  live.  Inform  the  steward, 
and  leave  the  rest  to  me.  Do  nothing  yourselves  and, 
after  choosing  the  site,  go  not  into  the  woods  until  I 
give  you  leave.  Four  days  1  Well,  much  may  be  done 
in  four  spring  days.  There  is  an  old  spell  I  heard  of  in 
the  East  which  lightens  a  mason's  labour  admirably. 
At  the  proper  time  I  shall  send  for  you.  No  words. 
Cherry,  for  I  see  your  tongue  wishes  to  be  pert ;  and 
in  that  mood  I  might  not  love  you.  Lay  the  parcel  of 
guineas  upon  this  table.  You  will  pardon  me,  but  I 
have  much  to  see  to,"  he  said,  going  towards  a  door 
which  admitted  to  the  garden,  then  turning  to  ring 
a  bell. 

"  Wait  outside  until  I  can  send  Father  Benedict  to 
join  you,  and  he  will  guide  you  to  the  chapel.  This 
is  a  day  which  marks  a  period.  My  sons  have  finished 
their  education  at  Oxford  and  are  returning  home. 
Farewell,  honest  John  Clabar.  Cherry— do  not  forget 
my  warning." 


CHAPTER  XI 


RUTH  COMES  TO  THE  END  OF  HER  CAPTIVITY 

Ruth  and  her  doctor  stood  in  the  copse  below 
Coinagehall,  while  evening  crept  along,  brightening  the 
primroses  which  were  dull  in  sunlight.  The  atmosphere 
was  sullen,  yet  warm,  and  the  impatient  March 
searched  every  nook  to  find  a  living  thing. 

"  Nobody  will  come  this  way  l:^fore  dark,  unless 
it  be  Toby  Penrice,  and  him  you  can  hide  from 
behind  these  holly-bushes,"  said  Ruth. 

"The  rogue  has  seen  me  once,  and  has  since 
talked  of  me  at  every  doorstep." 

"As  another  apparition.  Moyle  is  haunted  by 
all  manner  of  ghosts.  Your  presence  here  is  known, 
but  to  Grambla  you  are  Red  Cap,  to  the  Clabars  one 
of  their  ancestors,  while  to  gossips  you  are  the  evil 
one  himself." 

"  And  to  you,  Ruth  ?  "  he  asked,  holding  both 
her  hands. 

"  To  me,"  she  murmured.  "  What  but  a  dear 
sinner  who  is  about  to  leave  me  ?  You  are  the  spirit 
of  this  season  which  comes  to  mock  the  wretched." 

''  What  do  you  mean,  my  Ruth  ?  " 

"  Spring  comes  to  every  youth  and  maiden,  com- 
manding them  to  love,  and  they  must  obey;  but 
those  who  are  poor  and  in  misery  love  in  vain.  So  the 
season  is  a  mockery  to  them.  They  are  bidden  go  to 
church,  but  when  they  get  there  the  door  is  locked. 
Spring,  like  the  world,  was  made  for  rich  folk." 

"  I  shall  not  play  the  part  of  a  deceiving  season.  I 
am  yours  eternally,  dear  Ruth." 

99 


zoo 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  You  heard  the  gale  and  the  rain  last  night.  In 
my  dreams  you  were  the  wind  of  March,  while  I  was 
weeping  April.  You  had  blown  past,  and  while  I 
smiled  at  your  memory  I  wept  to  know  that  you 
were  gone." 

"  Could  you  forget  May-day  had  to  follow  ?  " 

"  I  awoke,"  said  Ruth  sadly.  "  There  was  no  May 
for  me." 

"  Yov  cannot  hinder  it  from  coming.  Yesterday 
I  knew  you  loved  me " 

"  I  did  not  say  so." 

"  When  a  maiden  makes  no  answer,  she  means  yes." 

"  I  protested." 

"  Yet  you  did  not  resist." 

"  Surely  I  forced  you  from  me  !  " 

"  And  with  the  action  drew  yourself  towards  me." 

"  And  caUed  out  I  " 

"  Nay,  you  sighed  and  placed  your  head  upon  this 
shoulder.    Ah,  dearest  Ruth  1 " 

"  I  must  leave  you,"  she  murmured.  "  Grambla 
may  have  returned  home — is  calling  for  me  now. 
This  little  wood  has  changed.  Now  when  I  walk  I 
shall  hear  your  voice.  I  shall  speak  to  the  trees  and 
flowers,  and  they  will  answer — ^you!  The  sun  will 
smile  of  you.  The  stream  and  these  meadows  will 
have  a  voice  also,  and  will  whisper — you  !  " 

"  I  leave  you,  but  we  do  not  part,"  said  the  young 
mountebank.  "  You  will  be  walking  at  my  side  ;  I 
shall  hear  your  voice  and  feel  your  hand  stealing  into 
mine.  Every  day  I  shall  seek  your  advice,  and  when  a 
little  good  fortune  comes  I  shall  say, '  Was  not  that  well 
done,  Ruthie  ?  ' " 

"  And  I  shall  answer,  '  This  brings  the  summer 
on.'    Is  it  growing  dark  ?    I  cannot  see." 

"  There  is  light  here — light  upon  your  hair,  and 
these  two  litt'f  ears  shine  brightly." 

"  Oh,  love  ve  in  poverty  1 "  she  moaned.  "  Youths 
and  maidens  i^ave  so  little,  while  the  earth  is  rich." 


THE  END  OF  HER  CAPTIVITY        loi 

"We  are  forced  to  get  and  take.  We  are  not 
allowed  happiness  untU  we  are  exhausted  by  the 
struggle  to  keep  alive.    Man  fights  while  the  maiden 

waits*" 

"  She  was  never  made  for  waiting.  If  she  were 
meant  to  wait  God  would  have  made  her  differently, 
and  He  would  have  created  a  different  world  for  her 
to  wait  in.  This  spring  season  mocks  the  wretched, 
but  it  also  teaches  them  time  must  r  be  wasted, 
not  a  day,  not  an  hour.  We  are  made  so  wonderfully, 
yet  how  lit  Je  we  are  given— a  few  years  of  youth  in 
one  short  life  !  And  if  we  lose  one  hour  we  may  miss 
all.  The  trees  do  not  wait ;  birds  and  beasts  do  not 
wait.  Buds  are  opening  all  around  us,  birds  are 
mating,  every  living  thing  is  seizing  the  great  chance 
which  comes  every  year.  Men  and  maids  alone  are 
waiting— waiting  1 " 

"There  are  no  poor  trees,  poor  buds;  all  are 
wealthy.  They  hold  all  things  in  common,  and  each 
takes  a  share,"  he  ai\swered  heavily.  "  But  poor  men 
and  maids  must  fight  for  years,  and  then  not  obtain 
their  share  of  good  things." 

"  Fields,  woods,  and  houses  are  owned  by  Sir 
Thomas  Just.  He  takes  the  shares  of  hundreds, 
while  you  have  nothing — ^and  I  have  not  even  a 
name.    The  poor  are  forced  to  steal." 

"  My  Ruthie  is  no  robber." 

"  What  can  I  give  you  ? "  she  cried,  breaking 
away  from  him.  "  I  cannot  let  you  depart  from  me 
with  empty  hands.  You  honour  me,  sir,  with  your 
love." 

"  You  give  me  yours." 

"  I  have  no  fortune — a  kitchen-wench,  a  scrubber 
of  floors  I  My  love  by  custom  goes  to  the  kind  gentle- 
man who  deigns  to  smile  upon  me ;  and  my  hand 
to  some  dull  labourer.  Yet  you  would  make  me  your 
wife  in  sight  of  heaven." 

"  Have  you  not  saved  my  life  ?    I  loved  you  out  of 


I 


Z03 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


gratitude,  I  loved  you  out  of  pity;   and  at  last  I 
loved  you  for  yourself  alone." 

"Take  these  I  "  cried  Ruth,  forcing  primroses  into 
his  hands.  "  They  are  not  mine  to  give,  yet  what  else 
is  there  ?  Take  these  also  I "  she  continued,  plucking 
the  taU  daffodils.  "  Here  is  a  ribbon  from  my  neck 
And  here  is  a  handkerchief.  Now  I  have  given  you 
all  I  can.  Nay,  here  are  kisses  I "  And  she  flung 
herself  upon  him,  weeping  wildly. 

"  Dear  heart,  what  ails  you  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  My  master  shall  not  say  his  servant  has  no  dowry," 
she  Gobbec*.  "  I  give  you  yellow  flowers,  the  first  of  the 
year.  See  I  I  thrust  them  into  your  pocket,  and  bid 
♦hem  turn  into  gold.  Hear  the  petals  clink  together  I " 

••Ruth!  dear  Ruth,  be  cahn  I  " 

"  Uy  all  the  fields  of  Coinagehall  you  shall  carry 
them  with  you.  Four  days  ago  we  met— both  starving. 
I  gave  you  food,  and  in  return  you  fed  me  with  your 
kindness  and  your  presence— and  yesterday  with  the 
only  food  that  satisfies  a  woman." 

"  Kisses,  sweetheart ;  soft  words,  promises,  oaths." 

"  Food  of  heaven,  satisfying  only  while  the  sweet 
taste  remains,  then  leaving  the  body  more  hungry 
than  before.  Would  you  turn  deceiver— poisoner  ? 
For  the  man  who  falsely  swears  to  love  poisons  the 
wells  of  heaven.  Ah,  I  do  not  know  what  I  am  saying. 
Pardon  me,  dearest  poor  gentleman  I  You  have  given 
me  so  much— burdened  me  with  memories  which  shall 
aid  my  feet  to  run  up  hill.  Shall  some  village  woman 
give  you  a  shilling,  while  I  send  you  away  emptv- 
handed  ? "  j  j       f  j 

"  I  have  your  heart  to  carry,  and  your  love  to  hold 
You  give  me  all."  he  said.  "  Dearest  Ruth,  do  not 
weaken  me.  I  -nust  go  to  win  our  future.  Force  me 
from  you— do  not  hold  me  here.  If  I  move  I  draw 
you  with  me." 

"  My  will  forces  you  away,  but  my  heart  is  a  bramble 
clmging  round  you." 


THE  END  OF  HER  CAFnVITY        X03 

"  This  flower  has  no  thorns,"  he  whispered  as  he 
kissed  her  streaming  face. 

"  Love  wears  a  croMm  of  thorns  " 

"  It  b  ahnost  night,"  he  cried.  "  Oh,  Ruth,  Ruth  I 
what  a  darkness  is  this  I  Each  path  as  I  turn  towards 
it  seems  blacker  than  the  last.  A  man  is  valiant  when 
life  has  no  pleasure  for  him  ;  a  craven  when  he  loves. 
The  trees  are  full  of  voices.  There  are  movements  in 
yonder  bushes  as  of  men  lying  in  wait.  More  flowers, 
Ruth  I  FoolUhRuthI" 

"  The  handkerchief  1 "  she  cried. 

"  Why,  it  is  tied  at  the  four  comers." 

"  True  lover's  knots." 

"  It  holds  something.  What  are  you  giving  me  ? 
What  more  can  you  give  ?  " 

"  See  I  I  force  it  into  the  pocket  of  your  coat.  It 
lies  upon  a  bed  of  primroses.  Be  very  careful  how  you 
draw  it  out— but  not  now.  Walk  through  the  night, 
■€  and  in  thr  morning  ask  God  to  bless  you — ^and  to  forgive 
V  both — ^then  draw  out  my  yellow  flowers,  my  stohn 
blossoms,  and  count  them.  Go,  Harry  I  That  way 
to  the  east." 

"  I  have  indeed  taught  you  to  call  me  by  that  name," 
he  said  hoarsely.  "  'Tis  the  name  by  which  my  few 
friends  Imow  me.  But  I  have  not  told  you  how  they 
cdl  me  somMimes  Black  Harry." 

"  I  care  nothing  for  a  name.  Am  I  not  Black  Ruth 
of  the  kitchen  ?  " 

"  I  am  so  called " 

"  Rim,  Harry  1 "  she  cried,  not  hearing  what  he 
said.  "  My  senses  are  going  from  me.  The  moon  is 
silver,  and  the  sim  is  gold.  We  are  all  dark  creatures. 
Let  us  wish  for  each  other  names  of  a  better  colour. 
Good  night,  Harry — ^I  believe  I  have  said  good- 
bye." 

She  turned  and  went,  stumbling  against  the  holly- 
bushes. 

"  Ruth,  stay  !  " 


104 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  Be  careful.  Harry,  to  wrap  your  cloak  about  you  ; 
for  the  air  will  be  very  cold  near  morning." 

"  Hear  me,  Ruth !  I  am  unworthy  of  your  love. 
Ruth,  my  love,  my  life  !    How  shall  we  meet  again  I  " 

But  he  spoke  to  the  night,  for  Ruth  was  already  in 
the  open  field ;  and  his  voice  was  a  buzzing  in  her 
ears. 

Job  Cay  ran  from  the  copse  until  he  reached  the 
silent  lane,  and  along  this  he  sped  to  an  open  hill 
where  the  fresh  wind  whistled.  He  drew  out  the 
handkerchief  and  untied  the  knots.  Five  guineas 
there,  the  sum  he  had  asked  for,  and  now  had  won 
by  lying.  He  stood  and  stared  at  them,  swaying 
from  side  to  side.  Stones  were  beneath  his  feet ;  he 
knelt  upon  them,  and  took  off  his  hat ;  but  could 
not  pray.  The  only  words  which  escaped  into  the 
wind  were,  "If  I  forget  her  yellow  flowers,  God 
wound  me  !  " 

Ruth  made  her  way  to  Coinagehall,  and  no  thought 
of  the  waiting  Jacob  hurried  her ;  for  her  senses  were 
stupefied  again.  She  reached  the  house,  hearing  no 
sound  except  the  cry  of  owls,  and  pushed  at  the  door, 
which  opened  with  a  grating  noise,  for  wind  had 
scattered  sand  upon  the  floor  A  dull  light  of  candles 
fell  upon  her  eyes ;  she  felt  the  smart  of  them  when 
it  was  too  late  to  turn  ;  for  the  kitchen  stood  open  at 
the  end  of  the  passage,  and  she  saw  Jacob,  a  small 
dark  creature— far  away  it  seemed  to  her— crouched 
upon  his  usual  chair,  watching  and  waiting.  Ruth 
faltered,  then  stood  still ;  for  the  picture  of  light  and 
lawyer  swung  before  her,  and  she  found  herself 
wondering  whether  any  woman  could  be  bought  with 
gold  to  kiss  that  meagre  face. 

Jacob  moved  like  a  shadow,  and  passed  into  the 
dark.     He  called,  and  the  girl  recovered  her  own 
voice  at  the  sound  of  his. 
"  Ah,  he  is  frightened,"  she  murmured. 
"  ^Vhere  have  you  been  ?  " 


IS 


THE  END  OF  HER  CAPTIVITY        105 

"  V/alking  in  the  copse  and  through  the  meadows," 
she  replied  ;  but  that  sorrowful  tongue  gave  evidence 
against  her. 

"  It  is  night." 

"  I  call  it  evening.    It  is  night  here." 

"  Come  nearer.  I  am  told  a  woman  can  lie  cleverly," 
said  Jacob. 

He  took  a  candlestick,  and  held  it  towards  her  face. 
Hardly  knowing  what  she  did  Ruth  extinguished  the 
flame.  Smoke  of  the  snuff  ascended  between  them, 
while  Jacob  laughed.  Ruth  had  never  heard  him 
laugh  so  merrily.  But  his  tongue  was  soon  grating 
like  the  door  upon  the  sand. 

"  Very  well !  Now  stretch  your  cheeks  and  blow 
me  out  that  firelight.  Stretch  them  again  and  blow 
me  from  the  house.  What,  have  ye  spent  all  breath 
already  ?  Here  is  a  woman's  strength  !  She  blows 
out  a  candle,  and  is  then  exhausted." 

"  I  am  not  well.    My  head  is  aching." 

"  Ay,  and  the  heart  too,  I  warrant." 

"  So  I  went  down  into  the  copse,  forgetting  it  grew 
late ;  and  the  darkness  came  upon  me  suddenly." 

"  Stand  here  before  me.  I  will  examine  you — ay, 
know  you  thoroughly.  All  day  you  might  have 
wandered,  yet  you  choose  the  evening.  Ruth  Grambla 
— I  know  not  why  I  honour  you  with  my  name — ^we 
men  of  the  law  regard  the  faces  of  our  clients,  and 
especially  do  we  regard  the  eyes  and  mouth.  The 
rascal,  if  a  man,  will  blunder  through  his  story,  and 
while  he  speaks  the  truth  his  eyes  are  steady  ;  but  at 
the  first  lie  they  change,  they  flicker  like  this  candle 
flame.  If  a  woman,  she  will  use  her  tongue  exceeding 
well ;  but  coming  to  the  lie  her  mouth  twitches.  Nay, 
girl,  stand  steady.  Would  you  plead  guilty  with  your 
attitude  ?  So !  so !  an  honest  wench,  a  virtuous 
woman.    Your  eyes  are  red  with  weeping." 

"  I  have  suffered  much  pain,"  she  whispered. 

"  Your  hair  is  in  great  disorder." 


IT'l 


io6 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  It  was  blown  by  the  wind." 

"  And  to  conclude  you  have  a  lover." 

Ruth  did  not  answer. 

"  His  name  is  Peter  Clabar." 

"  I  do  not  know  him." 

"  She  speaks  the  truth,"  muttered  Jacob.  "  This 
lover  is  then  a  stranger,"  he  proceeded.  "  I  would 
know  his  name." 

Ruth  smiled  faintly,  then  shook  her  head. 

"  Where  and  how  did  you  meet  this  man  ?  " 
^^  "  I  may  have  my  own  secret,"  said  Ruth  firmly. 
"  I  have  served  you  well,  and  have  not  sought  to  learn 
the  secrets  of  your  life.    Now  I  may  begin  to  live 
myself." 

"To-morrow  you  shall  answer  me,"  said  Jacob 
calmly. 

He  said  nothing  more,  and  presently  withdrew 
to  his  room,  leaving  Ruth  to  reproach  herself  for  the 
weakness  which  had  detained  her  in  the  copse  so  long. 
Her  work  was  finished,  and  she  sat  before  the  dying 
fire ;  a  sad  and  silent  little  figure,  thinking  of  the 
lonely  wanderer  upon  the  downs  with  his  face  towards 
the  hopeful  east.  She  slept,  and  from  a  vision  of  the 
darkest  future,  awoke  to  behold  Jacob  standing  on 
the  threshold,  terrible  in  his  insignificance.  His  face 
was  distorted,  his  e^iis  were  wild,  and  his  fingers 
plucked  at  the  air  as  though  trying  to  clutch  some 
elusive  property.  With  a  thrill  of  terror  Ruth  started 
up  and  snuffed  the  candle. 

I'  You  know  John  Clabar  ?  "  said  Jacob  at  last. 

"  He  is  not  my  lover,"  she  answered  impatiently, 
yet  with  a  carelessness  she  had  not  shown  before. 

"  This  house  was  once  the  property  of  his  family. 
I  took  him  into  my  service  out  of  charity  ;  the  dream- 
ing fool  sat  in  my  office  and  sighed  for  better  days. 
He  would  have  groaned  me  out  of  charity  with  all 
men.  So  I  dismissed  him — ^gave  him  notice  to  quit 
his  cottage.    I  took  you  also  out  of  charity,  and  now 


THE  END  OF  HER  CAPTIVITY 


107 


you — ^you  defy  me.  Remember  John  Clabar,  who 
to-morrow  will  be  homeless.  To-morrow  by  the  will 
of  God  this  family  of  Clabar  takes  another  downward 
step — ^the  last." 

Ruth  did  not  sleep  that  night.  In  the  morning 
Jacob  departed  long  before  his  usual  time ;  but  an 
hour  later  he  crossed  the  fields,  returning  to  Coinage- 
hall  in  the  company  of  the  village  constable,  and  a 
farmer  with  his  dog.  All  three  entered  the  house  and 
ascended  the  stairs ;  while  Ruth  sat  in  the  kitchen, 
her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  for  she  had  seen  the  con- 
stable holding  a  stick  she  recognised. 

The  search-party  descended  and  left  the  house, 
the  dog  straining  at  its  leash.  Ruth  heard  the  *ramp- 
ling  of  feet  upon  the  gravel,  approaching  the  back,  then 
dying  away  hi  the  direction  of  the  coach-house.  A 
lop"  silence  followed  before  the  searchers  returned ; 
ar  A  last  Ruth  saw  the  constable  and  fanner  retreat- 
ing across  the  fields,  and  she  heard  a  stealthy  footstep 
in  the  passage. 

Jacob  came  in  rubbing  his  hands  and  smiling  at  the 
face  of  the  lying  clock  ;  in  good  humour  for  he  played 
a  game  which  suited  his  mood,  and  he  was  also  vastly 
relieved  to  know  the  apparition,  which  had  failed  to 
trouble  him  of  late,  had  never  found  its  way  to  Coin- 
agehall. 

"  Ah,  Ruth,  'tis  not  often  I  bring  visitors.  I  am  a 
man  of  method.  To  change  the  order  of  the  day  is 
Lw  break  all  business.  You  have  a  lover.  That  fact 
was  established  between  us  yesterday,"  he  said  with 
a  joyous  cackling  of  laughter.  "  Maidens  will  love — 
'tis  right  that  they  should.  A  sad  life  without  love  ! 
But  while  lovers  kiss  and  sigh,  the  man  of  business 
takes  their  land  and  houses.  Here  is  the  will  of  God, 
I  duubt  not.  You  and  your  lover  shall  meet  again. 
I  will  bring  him  back,  or  perchance  send  you  to  him. 
Yet  I  would  rather  bring  him  back,  so  that  I  might 
restore  you  to  his  arms." 


io8 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


1  il 


"  Judge  me  harshly  if  you  will,"  said  Ruth.  "  But 
do  not  jeer  at  me." 

"  I  shall  enjoy  my  humour.  I  too  have  been  walk- 
ing in  the  copse,  though  my  eyes  are  not  red  with 
weeping.  The  distressed  lover  departed,  leaving  his 
stick.  The  scent  was  sufficient  for  the  hound,  which 
traced  the  precious  rascal  to  this  house,  so  into  the 
best  room  upstairs,  and  then  into  the  loft.  These  four 
days,  maiden — ^nay,  I  should  call  you  woman — you 
have  disported  yourself  very  pleasantly,  I  warrant. 
You  go  out  upon  the  road,  yon  find  your  gentleman, 
and,  being  a  passable  maid,  he  succumbs  to  your 
temptation.  You  bring  him  into  my  house,  offer  him 
my  bed,  give  him  my  food.  Nay,  in  your  exceeding 
generosity,  you  must  even  pay  him  for  the  kindness 
he  has  rendered  a  sly  kitchen-wench,  so  you  mast 
break  open  my  box,  steal  five  of  my  guineas,  and  press 
them  upon  him." 

"It  is  true  I  took  the  money.  I  did  not  break  the 
box,  for  you  had  left  the  key  to  tempt  me,"  said  Ruth, 
holding  her  hands  a  moment  upon  her  ears. 

"  Robberj',  wench  !  'Tis  the  only  word  to  fit  your 
crime ;  and,  mark  you,  robbery  goes  ever  hand  in  hand 
with  the  profession  I  think  you  not  unsuited  for." 

"  You  will  pardon  me,"  she  said,  "  but  I  remain  so 
ignorant  of  the  world,  I  have  retained  some  innocence. 
You  call  me  robber ;  until  to-day  I  have  been  charged 
to  call  you  father,  though  all  my  life  you  have  used  me 
as  a  servant.  The  daughter  may  have  access  to  the 
father's  purse ;  the  servant  may  look  to  her  master 
for  fair  wages.  I  have  taken  from  you  five  guineas. 
How  many  years  of  life  have  you  stolen  from  me  ?  " 

"  I  see  you  would  be  pleasant,"  said  the  little  man, 
twisting  his  fingers  together  until  thei'  cracked  like 
parchment.  "  Stealing  a  year  of  life  is  a  very  good 
pleasantry  indeed — a,  very  pretty  image  of  speech. 
I  believe  you  will  not  better  it." 

"  You  speak  of  a  profession  you  have  discovered  for 


Lj^MnnHMMr 


n 


THE  END  OF  HER  CAPTIVITY        109 

me."  continued  the  patient  girl ;  but  could  say  no 
more,  for  Jacob  broke  into  a  passion  of  cacklmg  laugh- 
ter which  bent  him  double.  ,, 

•'  She  has  done  better,"  he  cried  at  length.  ine 
woman  is  an  antic— would  make  a  stroUing  player. 
There  is  but  one  profession  open  to  a  woman,  and  that 
in  your  innocence  you  havo  discovered  for  yourself. 

"  Then  my  ignorance  and  innocence  are  equal. 

"  This  modesty  will  go  down  well.    'Twill  be 


^^^ _     the 

makhigy*you7  Chut,  wench  !  you  grow  tedious.  To 
go  out  upon  the  road  and  smile  at  men  ;  to  bnng  them 
home,  give  them  food  and  drink ;  to  hide  them  m 
bedchambers ;    to  call  them  lovers— what  is  all  this 

"  Stay  !  "  cried  Ruth  so  violently  that  Jacob  shuffled 
back.  "Now  I  understand  your  meaning.  Utter 
that  word,  and  I  shall- -I  shaU  try  to  kUl  you.  I  do 
J!  t  pollute  my  tongue  by  telling  you  my  love-story. 
Oh,  God  in  heaven,  they  think  me— they  wiU  caU 

She  turned  to  the  wall  and  sobbed  against  it,  "  Oh, 
my  father  and  mother,  why  are  ye  dead  ?  Will  ye  not 
come  back  to  save  me  ?  " 

"  This  is  penitence— remorse,"  said  Jacob,  smiling 
and  nodding.  "  God  is  merciful  to  sinners,  yet  'tis 
our  duty  to  put  them  from  us.  One  evil  person  contam- 
inates the  whole  community.  I  like  to  hear  this  woman 
weeping.  'Tis  a  sign  some  goodness  is  remaining— if 
it  be  not  anger.  I  fear  she  woald  have  shed  no  tear 
had  we  not  caught  her." 

His  amiable  voice  was  nothing  but  a  noise  in  the 
ears  of  Ruth.  She  leaned  against  the  wall  and  stam- 
mered like  a  child,  till  it  was  pitiful  to  hear  her.  "  Last 
night  I  shed  tears  for  love.  Now  I  shed  teais  for  shame. 
Oh,  for  a  little  strength  !  I  cannot  turn  upon  him. 
WTien  I  look  at  him  I  feel  sick,  I  grow  faint.  Now  I 
am  quite  blind." 
"  An  honourable  house,"  said  Jacob,  taking  snuff. 


no 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


For  centuries  the  home  of  English  yeomen.  Now  by 
this  woman  become  a  place  of  ill-repute.  Generations 
to  come  will  teU  of  it.  At  such  a  time  there  dwelt  in 
this  house  an  unworthy  woman,  a  shameless  woman, 
ay,  a  vile  woman.  So  they  will  say,  and  add  a  name  I 
would  not  like  to  call  her.  Breaking  open  my  box. 
stealmg  my  guineas— this  is  a  hanging  matter.  I 
might  carry  her  before  the  magistrates,  I  might  charge 
ner  with  theft,  ay,  and  with  making  my  house,  this 
honourable  mansion  of  Coinagehall,  a  resort  for  gal- 
lants. But  I  shall  be  merciful,  ay,  and  temper  justice 
with  my  mercy.    The  woman  shall  enjoy  her  liberty." 

He  skipped  to  the  windows  and  fastened  them ;  then 
to  the  back  door  which  he  locked ;  and  afterwards 
retummg  to  the  kitchen,  then  standing  for  a  few 
moments  to  watch  the  girl  who  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten he  was  near. 

"A  good  day,"  he  muttered,  rubbmg  his  hands 
contentedly.  "  John  Clabar  and  his  baby-faced  youth 
are  to  go  into  the  fields  and  woods— if  any  person 
gives  them  lodging  I  wiU  know  the  reason.  And  Ruth 
Crrambla— Grambla  a  good  and  decent  name— shaU 
make  her  choice," 

Briskly  he  stepped  to  the  unhappy  Ruth  and  tapped 
her  shoulder.  When  she  did  not  respond  he  drew  her 
round. 

"  Ruth  Grambla,  I  pray  you  give  me  your  attention. 
You  have  passed  under  my  name  before  the  parish 
and  upon  condition  I  shaU  allow  you  to  retain  it.  You 
have  stolen  my  guineas,  but  upon  terms  I  propose  to 
pardon  you.   Give  me  your  hand,  and  all  shall  be  well." 

His  meanmg,  rather  than  the  words,  reached  Ruth 
and  made  her  stagger.  She  could  not  speak  ;  besides! 
she  scorned  to  answer.  This  man,  who  had  tortured 
faer  and  oelieved  she  had  lately  been  dishonouring 
his  house,  now  asked  her  to  be  his  wife,  in  Oxder  that 
she  might  end  her  life  as  she  had  begun  it,  by  toiling 
in  his  kitchen.  t>        >    y  s 


THE  END  OF  HER  CAPTIVITY        iii 

"  The  love  of  a  father  I  have  never  lavished  upon 
you,"  Jacob  continued,  tapping  his  dirty  snuff-box. 
"  Now  I  perceive  you  are  arrived  at  the  age  when 
love  becomes  as  the  sun  of  your  existence ;  and  I 
propose  to  honour  you — for  'tis  indeed  an  honour  to  a 
nameless  wench — ^with  a  partnership — ^a  business  one, 
I  grant  ye — ^not  in  my  office,  but  in  my  house  of  Coin- 
agehaU." 

"  You  I  "  sobbed  Ruth,  seeing  the  face  and  eyes  of 
handsome  Harry,  and  feeling  his  late  kisses  bum  upon 
her.  Then  she  threw  out  her  arms,  and  cried  in  anguish, 
"  Kill  me,  or  let  me  go." 

"  I  am  sorry  the  proposal  does  not  suit  you,"  said 
Jacob  lightly.  "  I  feared  it  would  be  so.  Yet  I  was 
bound  by  honour  and  duty — a  trifle  by  my  inclination 
also — ^to  give  you  the  choice  between  honest  living 
and  a  shameful  ending.  What  cannot  be  mended  by 
marriage  must  now  be  ended  by  dismissal.  The  clothes 
you  wear  I  bestow  upon  you  as  a  free  gift.  Had  you 
been  honest  I  would  have  pressed  a  guinea  in  your 
hand ;  for  you  have  not  served  me  ill.  I  will  even 
escort  you  to  the  road,  and  point  out  the  way  you 
should  proceed  for  Plymouth  town,  where  I  am  told 
a  wench  with  a  fair  face  may  find  a  handsome  living. 
You  will  follow  me." 

Ruth  staggered  against  the  table,  while  her  dim 
eyes  saw  in  a  mist  the  fire  she  had  made,  the  pots  she 
had  scoured  a  thousand  times  ;  and  her  ears  heard  at 
a  great  distance  the  wheezing  of  the  clock,  her  lifelong 
comrade.  She  had  not  strength  to  move  ;  but  Jacob, 
with  a  chuckle  of  satisfaction,  put  his  hands  upon  her, 
and  dragged  her  from  the  room.  In  the  hall  she  fell ; 
and  the  little  attorney,  losing  control  of  his  temper  at 
last,  kicked  and  struck  her  till  his  limbs  were  weary. 

"  Robber  !  "  he  shouted.  "  Mistress  of  gallants  ! 
You  steal  my  guineas  !  You  make  a  brothel  of  my 
house  I  You  scorn  my  name — sneer  at  my  figure — 
mock  at  my  face  I  " 


zxa 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


Then  he  seized  her  by  the  feet  and  dragged  her  over 
the  stones,  and  left  her  upon  the  grass  outsidr,  while 
he  locked  the  door. 

"  Hear  my  last  word,  strumpet  1 "  ht  sliouted, 
returning  and  bending  over  her  swollen  eyes  and 
bleeding  mouth.  "  Get  you  gone  from  here,  and  never 
let  me  see  your  face  again.  Get  you  gone  from  Moyle, 
for  if  I  find  you  in  this  parish  I  carry  you  before  the 
magistrates.  Get  you  to  your  lover,  and  I  pray  to 
know  you  have  been  hanged  together." 

He  shuffled  away,  muttering  threats,  glancing  back 
every  few  yards  at  the  slight  figure,  clad  in  its  coarse 
working  clothes,  lying  barely  conscious  and  moaning 
in  its  pain. 


CHAPTER  XII 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  RUTH  IN  FAIRYLAND 

As  Ruth  could  not  read  she  knew  but  a  few  magic 
tales,  and  these  had  been  told  her  by  the  old  woman 
of  the  farm,  who  had  seen  fairies  in  her  young  days ; 
she  thought  upon  Poldrifty  Downs,  but  was  not 
certain.  Ruth  dreamed  of  such  tales  as  the  procef  'on 
of  the  senses  approaching  her  body,  still  lying  in  the 
garden  of  Coinagehall. 

A  fine  sight  it  would  have  been  to  those  whose  eyes 
had  been  struck  with  magic  ointment.  First  came  the 
tales,  each  one  beneath  its  banner,  and  with  its  band 
of  music.  The  motto  of  every  one  was  clearly  visible  : 
•  The  true  bride  finds  her  own  love  ' ;  '  The  virtuous 
maiden  must  win  the  prize ' ;  '  You  are  immortal  when 
you  believe  in  yourself.'  And  every  tale,  as  it  passed, 
dropped  a  herb  of  healing.  Then  came  the  chariot  of 
the  sun,  surrounded  by  rainbows.  The  warmth  was 
soothing ;  it  remained  after  the  vision  had  gone  by, 
to  be  replaced  by  the  flowers ;  primroses,  daffodils, 
and  many  others,  skipping  along  like  children ;  the 
buds  somewhat  peevish  because  they  could  not  see. 
And  upon  their  petals  pressed  birds,  butterflies,  and 
bees,  with  quite  wise  faces.  Last  of  all  came  the  five 
senses  hand  in  hand. 

But  Ruth  had  to  sit  upon  the  grass  and  wait  an 
hour  for  the  straggler  strength.  It  arrived  at  last, 
the  only  dejected  creature  of  them  all — ^the  others  had 
been  somewhat  too  boisterous — ^but  it  consented  to 
lift  Ruth  from  the  weeds  and  to  allow  her  to  follow  the 
procession,  which  had  entirely  disappeared,  and  indeed 
I  113 


"4 


MOYLE  CKaRCH-TOWN 


now  seemed  to  have  been  nothing  but  a  fancy,  out  of 
the  garden,  across  the  fields,  and  along  the  lane  to- 
wards the  high  and  wind-swept  country. 

Ruth  knew  she  would  not  be  safe  until  she  had 
passed  the  great  longstone  which  marked  the  boundary 
of  the  parish ;  but  all  beyond  that  was  a  land  of  the 
barbarians.  She  had  never  been  away  from  Moyle, 
and  that  stone  was  to  her  the  end  of  the  known  world. 
She  had  bruises  and  weakness  in  place  of  friends  and 
home ;  she  was  not  able  to  walk  a  dozen  miles, 
and  even  if  she  had  walked  twenty,  what  would  she 
have  found  except  more  open  spaces  and  unfriendly 
faces  ? 

"  I  must  beg  for  my  food,"  she  whispered.  "  Else 
go  down  to  the  sea  and  sup  upon  gweans  and  limpets. 
But  if  I  go  to  the  sea  I  may  not  return." 

Hope,  like  a  tiny  child,  kept  singing  while  her 
feet  went  on.  Ruth  had  in  mind  two  very  different 
figures.  One  was  the  mysterious  priest  who  had  walked 
into  Coinagehall,  had  blessed  her  in  a  kmdly  voice,  and 
promised  her  protection.  She  knew  a  priest  lived  at 
Bezurrel,  but  he  would  not  interest  himself  in  the 
Protestants  of  Moyle,  nor  would  Sir  Thomas  allow 
him  to  enter  a  home  unbidden.  Many  ships  were 
driven  by  contrary  winds  into  the  harbours ;  sailors 
and  passengers  would  explore  the  land,  obtain  pro- 
visions, then  go  upon  their  way.  This  priest  was 
undoubtedly  a  foreigner  thus  stranded,  roaming  about 
the  parish  for  an  hour,  full  of  love  for  his  fellow- 
creatures.    Ruth  dismissed  this  figure  with  a  sigh. 

The  other  was  an  old  woman  with  a  beard ;  her 
figure,  if  less  distinct,  was  much  more  real ;  although 
Riith  could  not  feel  confident  of  help,  for  Mother 
Gothal  was  the  attorney's  trusted  seer.  She  was  also 
one  of  the  wisest  women  in  all  Cornwall.  Ruth  had 
never  spoken  to  the  witch,  whose  powers  she  believed 
in  firmly  ;  but  Mother  Gothal,  it  was  rumoured,  had  a 
kindness  for  maidens — ^having  at  some  remote  period 


RUTH  IN  FAIRYLAND 


115 


been  one  hersell— thcreiore  she  might  tell  the  homeless 
girl  which  path  it  would  be  best  for  her  to  choose. 

Ruth  came  out  upon  the  broken  trackway,  where 
she  had  never  walked  before,  though  barely  a  mile 
from  Coinagehall.  Looking  back  she  saw  the  roofs 
of  Moyle,  and  her  courage  died  away. 

"  I  have  a  mind  to  go  back,"  she  murmured,  beg^- 
nuig  to  weep  again.  "  I  loved  my  kitchen,  the  shining 
pots,  the  dear  old  clock.  I  had  no  other  comp  Jiy. 
Once  I  took  in  a  starving  cat,  but  he  kicked  it  to  death. 
Then  I  took  in  a  starving  man,  and  he  tried  to  kick  me 
to  death.  I  would  go  back  if— nay,  he  was  tormsnting 
me ;  and  rather  than  that  I  would  go  down  to  the  sea. 
The  poor  old  clock  will  have  no  comrade  now." 

She  went  on  until  she  could  sec  smoke  curling 
over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  then  she  wiped  away  her 
tears  and  whispered,  "  How  silent  it  must  be  1  The 
spiders  are  spinning  new  webs.  The  mice  are  nmning 
about  the  kitchen.  The  fire  has  gone  out.  I  remember 
my  apron  was  hanging  over  the  back  of  that  chair.  I 
am  sorry  I  had  not  time  to  sweep  the  floor." 

In  fine  weather  Mother  Gothal  made  her  fire  among 
some  stones  before  the  hovel.  She  was  squatting 
upon  the  peat,  presiding  over  a  broth  of  some  fell 
description,  looking  terribL  to  the  eyes  of  Ruth  ;  for 
she  was  swarthy,  and  muttered  to  herself.  The  girl 
stopped  in  terror  several  yards  away ;  but  the  wise 
woman  turned  her  head,  and  fixed  her  simple  old  eyes, 
which  sorely  needed  a  pair  of  spectacles,  upon  the 
faltering  figure  ;  and  then  she  scrambled  up  and  called 
in  a  motherly  fashion,  "  La,  my  dear  Ruth  !  I  never 
thought  to  see  you  in  the  high  country.  I  ha'  'mown 
you  all  your  life,  but  ha'  never  spoke  with  ye  avore. 
Come  along  up,  my  dear.  Come,  my  pretty  !  Pitch 
by  the  fire  and  tell  to  old  mother." 

"  I  am  afraid  of  you.  Mother  Gothal,"  said  Ruth 
simply. 

"  Don't  ye  be  frightened,  child.    Sit  here,  on  this 


1x6 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


mossy  ttcme.  and  il  the  old  cat  comes  to  rub  agin  ye, 
cry  scat  to  'en.  And  don't  ye  be  shamed,  for  aU  M^le 
be  airaid  of  me,  and  Master  Grambla  most  of  all.  'fne 
fox-hunters  draw  over  to  Gwentor  sooner  thsm  pass 
my  cottage.  I'm  a  quiet  old  woman  when  the  sun 
shines ;  but  at  night  I  be  the  powerfullest  old  witch 
between  Land's  End  and  Tamar.  I  ha'  brought  storms 
without  number,  and  I  ha'  put  goldm  fortunes  into 
the  pockets  of  the  wreckers.  And  once  when  the 
full  moon  wam't  to  my  liking  I  put  'en  out.  La,  my 
dear,  I  puffed  wi'  my  old  cheeks  just  once,  and  out 
her  .vent." 
"  You  won't  hurt  me.  Mother  Gothal  ?  " 
"  Not  if  Master  Grambla  was  to  give  me  a  bag  of 
guineas  for  it.  Not  if  he  was  to  say  change  the  maid 
into  a  toad.  I  wouldn't  change  ye,  my  love,  and  if  I 
did  I  would  change  ye  into  a  little  bird  to  hang  up  in 
a  cage  and  sing  for  me.  I  love  young  folks,  and  the 
prettier  they  be  the  more  I  loves  them ;  for  I  was  a 

fretty  maid  myself,  and  a  wonderful  fine  woman  avore 
took  to  witchery.  I  was  the  prettiest  maid  between 
Land's  End  and  Tamar,  and  now  I  be  the  old  witch 
of  Poldrifty  Downs,  and  nobody  'cept  Sir  Thomas 
Just  is  powerfuller  than  I  be." 

For  several  minutes  the  old  body  continued  ht: 
professional  patter,  which  kept  Ruth  quaking  ;  while 
the  pot  went  on  boiling,  and  the  brincUed  cat  stalked 
among  the  rocks,  and  the  tame  raven  croaked.  Mother 
Gothjd  threw  turves  upon  the  fire,  muttering  an 
incantation  to  make  them  bum.  Then  she  looked 
into  the  clear  water  of  the  spring,  and  said  wisely,  "  I 
see,  my  dear,  you  ain't  come  up  alone." 

"  Yes,  Mother  Gothal.    I  am  quite  alone  now." 

"  You  bain't,  my  dear.  You  ha'  brought  trouble 
along  with  ye." 

Ruth  bowed  her  head  and  quickly  told  the  story, 
from  the  coming  of  Job  Cay  to  the  final  scene  that 
morning ;   concluding  with  the  sad  saying,  "  I  have 


Mi 


RUTH  IN  FAIRYLAND 


X17 


only  one  friend,  and  he  cannot  help  me.    I  ] 
place  where  I  can  lie  to-night.   And  I  can  get 


have  no 
place  where  I  can  lie  to-nicht.  And  i  can  set  no  food 
unless  I  beg  for  it." 

"Jacob  Grambla,"  mumbled  the  witch.  "Ah, 
Jacob  Grambla  I  Feel  that,  my  beauty  I  "  And  she 
spat  into  the  fire. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  which  way  I  am  to  go  ?  And 
will  you  tell  me  the  future,  dear  Mother  Gothal  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  ye,"  said  the  witch  gruffly,  staring  at  the 
sad  little  figure.  "  Cast  out,  be  ye  ?  "  she  went  on. 
"  Did  ye  mind  to  walk  along  the  road  full  of  sailors 
and  robbers— a  pretty  maid  like  you  ?  He  would  ha' 
done  kinder  to  ha*  killed  ye.  Takes  a  man  to  turn  a 
poor  maid  into  the  road.  The  devil  couldn't  do  it. 
The  devil  would  ha'  give  ye  fine  clothes,  and  a  purse  of 
gold,  and  a  coach  and  four  to  drive  in.  Takes  a  man 
to  learn  the  devil  how  to  use  maidens.  Keep  a  good 
heart,  my  love.  Master  Grambla  will  bum.  He'll 
bum  fine." 

"  I  am  so  glad  I  came,"  Ruth  murmured. 

"  You  crave  to  know  the  future,"  cried  Mother 
Gothal,  stirring  the  pot  vigorously.  "  What  do  you 
know  about  the  past  ?  " 

"  Can  you  tell  me  that  ?  "  said  Ruth  eagerly.  "  I 
am  just  a  maiden — that  is  all.  A  maiden  alone  in  the 
world  without  a  name.  A  few  days  ago  Mr.  Grambla 
informed  me  I  am  not  his  daughter.  He  declared  my 
mother  was  a  witch." 

"  A  witch,  bless  her  soul !  He'd  call  the  angels 
witches.  Your  mother  was  the  beautifullest  woman 
I  ever  saw." 

"  You  saw  her  !  "  cried  Ruth,  coming  excitedly  to 
the  dame,  forgetting  witchcraft  and  her  own  condition. 
"  Oh,  Mother  Gothal,  tell  me  of  my  mother." 

"  La,  child,  I  knows  but  little,  for  the  poor  dear 
lady  was  dead  when  I  saw  her,  and  Ijnng  cold  upon 
the  sand.  'Tis  twenty  years  ago — I  mind  the  time 
well,  for  'twas  soon  aiter  Cherry  Clabar  was  bom— 


ii8 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


scat  my  old  f'^'-'  '^f  a  tongue,  what  be  it  telling  of !  I 
mean  Pet"-  1  ioar  and  I  •*  as  minding  the  baby.  'Twas 
a  fearful  toniy  S'  son,  and  folks  said  I  had  brought 
the  wind-  m  I  did,  but  that's  no  matter — and 
one  night  a  boat  was  cast  upon  the  rocks.  It  came 
from  a  ship  what  had  gone  down.  'Tis  an  old  story 
I'm  telling,  for  ships  are  cast  upon  this  shore  in  every 
gale,  and  the  richest  folk  about  here  are  the  wreckers." 

"  And  my  mother  was  in  that  boat !  " 

"  And  you  too.  She  was  holding  you  to  her  bosom. 
You  and  her  were  the  only  ones  what  got  to  shore  alive, 
and  she  died  without  speaking — least  I  says  so,  but  how 
be  I  to  know  ?  For  she  was  found  by  Master  Grambla." 

'  She  may  have  spoken  to  him.  Why  do  I  remember 
nothing  ?  " 

"  You  was  nought  but  a  little  babe.  If  Master 
Grambla  knows  aught  about  ye,  he'll  keep  it  to  him- 
self. I  was  called  to  lay  the  poor  lady  out  for  burial — 
aw,  she  was  a  lovely  creature — and  I  took  her  clothes, 
my  dear,  I  wore  your  dear  mother's  gown  till  it  fell  to 
pieces.  And  I  found  on  her  neck  a  little  trinket — such 
as  a  child  might  wear  on  fair-day — and  I  have  it  yet. 
I  fancy,  my  love,  you  would  like  to  see  it." 

"  Oh,  Mother  Gothal !  "  Ruth  gasped. 

The  old  woman  went  into  the  hovel  and  rummaged 
for  many  long  minutes.  She  returned  at  last  and  gave 
Ruth  the  dainty  necklace,  which  flashed  prettily  in 
the  sunshine,  saying  kindly,  "  I'd  like  you  to  keep 
it,  dear.  'Tis  of  no  value,  else  Master  Grambla  would 
ha'  took  it  from  her.  I  had  a  mind  to  give  it  you  before, 
but  Master  Grambla  would  ha'  seen  it,  and  took  it 
from  you,  and  accused  me  of  stealing  it.  Keep  it, 
dear,  and  put  it  under  your  pillow,  and  then  you  will 
dream  of  your  dear  lady  mother." 

Ruth  pressed  the  trinket  to  her  lips,  then  threw  her 
arms  round  the  old  dame's  neck  and  kissed  her,  fearing 
the  witch's  skin  no  longer ;  while  tears  came  into 
Mother  Gothal's  eyes  when  she  felt  those  kisses. 


RUTH  IN  FAIRYLAND 


119 


"  I'll  serve  ye,  dear.  I'll  fetch  ye  down  a  pretty 
future,"  she  promised.  "  Ay,  I'll  ride  up  to  the  moon 
and  bring  it  down  ;  for  happy  marriages  be  made  in 
the  moon,  dear,  and  she  be  now  lying  on  her  back  atop 
of  Gwentor.  I  be  a  duddy  old  woman,  but  I  knows 
how  to  get  the  pretty  future.  I'M  give  ye  a  bit  of  rose- 
mary to  wear  in  your  bonnet  so  tiiar^  th^m  down  under 
can't  come  near  ye.  And  s  me  day  I'll  pi  with  ye  to 
churchyard  and  show  ye  th    d.;ar  lady';  grave." 

"  You  forget.  Mother.  I  n.uv  jft 'Away  from  Moyle  ; 
and  I  have  neither  bed  nor  pillow." 

"  La,  my  pretty,  you  trust  old  Mother.  Her  could 
change  them  rocks  into  four-posted  beds  and  feather 
pillows  wi'  a  word  and  a  spit.  Nothing's  no  trouble 
to  an  old  witch  body.  Do  ye  pitch  here  and  take  a  sup 
o'  broth,  while  I  gets  me  away  to  find  the  future." 

She  ran  into  the  hovel  for  a  bowl,  which  she  filled 
from  the  pot,  and  then  forced  into  the  girl's  hands, 
saying,  "  'lis  brave  wholesome  broth,  dear,  and  will 
put  new  heart  into  ye.  Now  I'm  agoing  to  leave  you, 
and  don't  ye  fret  while  I  be  gone.  Here's  my  old 
broomstick— don't  ye  touch  'en,  dear,  for  he'm  that 
powerful  he  would  fly  away  with  ye,  and  dropye  down 
in  the  Red  Say.  He  be  that  spiteful,  I  can't  hardly 
manage  him  myself." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  the  bewildered  girl. 

"  Up  to  the  moon,  my  dear.  I  won't  go  off  before 
your  eyes,  lest  I  should  fright  ye  to  death  ;  for  I  gets 
monstrous  ugly  when  I  sits  across  the  broomstick. 
I'll  walk  down  the  track,  and  directly  I  goes  behind 
them  rocks  I  shall  vanish  out  of  your  sight.  You  won't 
see  nothing  at  all,  my  dear.  You  bide  here  and  sup 
your  broth,  and  you'll  see  me  walking  out  of  them 
rocks  soon,  just  as  natural  as  I  be  now.  And  'twill  be 
to  you  as  if  I  hadn't  gone  more  than  a  dozen  yards 
away  from  ye." 

Mother  Gothal  trotted  off,  holding  the  fearful  broom- 
stick at  arm's  length,  and  addressing  it  in  an  unknown 


I30  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

tongue.  She  had  not  overrated  her  powers,  for  she 
vanished  immediately  after  passing  behind  the  great 
pile  of  rocks.  While  Ruth  trembled  at  this  exhibition 
of  witchcraft,  but  did  not  forget  to  take  the  broth, 
which  was  well  seasoned  with  honest  vegetables ;  and 
she  even  found  courage  to  stroke  the  brindled  cat,  and 
to  offer  it  the  dregs  in  the  bowl ;  and  was  delighted 
when  the  animal  behaved  like  any  other  cat,  arching 
her  back,  purring,  and  showing  no  signs  of  her  super- 
natural origin.  Decidedly,  thought  Ruth,  there  were 
worse  places  in  Moyle  than  this  open-air  kitchen  of  the 
witch. 

Progress  in  those  days  was  slow,  yet  hardly  had 
twenty  minutes  passed  before  Mother  Gothal  re- 
turned, not  in  the  least  fatigued,  although  in  that 
brief  period  she  had  flown  to  the  moon  and  back. 
She  flung  down  the  broomstick  disdainfully,  and 
cried,  "  Now  you  can  touch  'en— ay,  do  anything 
with  'en  you've  a  mind  to,  for  he'm  that  tired  and 
out  o'  breath  he  couldn't  fly  with  ye  a  yard." 

"Have  you  really  been  to  the  moon,  Mother 
Gothal  ? "  asked  Ruth,  staring  at  the  wonderful 
dame  with  childish  eyes. 

"  Don't  talk  about  it,  dear.  I  hates  the  old  moon. 
'Tis  a  nasty  cold  country  up  there,  and  I  always  gets 
a  sore  throat  after  going  up.  And  the  old  gentleman 
of  the  moon — ^him  with  the  faggot  and  dog  and 
lantern — ^he'm  that  peevish  sometimes  there's  no 
getting  a  decent  word  out  of  him.  I  don't  know  of 
anything  what  upsets  me  more  than  going  up  to  the 
moon." 

"  It  is  very  kind  to  take  so  much  trouble  for  me." 

"The  trouble's  nought.  'Tis  the  rudeness  of  the 
old  gentleman,  and  the  snarls  of  his  nasty  little  dog, 
and  ihe  cold  winds,  what  upset  me.  The  little  dog 
always  tries  to  bite  me,  and  I  don't  dare  give  he  one 
wi'  the  broomstick;  for  you  see,  dear,  that  might 
make  the  old  gentleman  more  peevish  than  ever." 


RUTH  IN  FAIRYLAND 


121 


I 


"  Do  you  know  my  future  now,  Mother  Gothal  ?  " 
"  La,  my  pretty,  I  knows  everything.    But  I  ain't 
allowed  to  tell  ye  much." 
"  Which  way  must  i  walk  ?  "  ,      ,  , 

The  old  woman  leaned  agamst  a  rock  and  closed  her 
eyes.  For  several  moments  she  remained  silent,  and 
then  began  to  speak  in  her  gruff,  professional  voice  : 

"  You  will  go  down  the  trackway  by  which  you 
came  here.    You  will  turn  to  the  left,  and  foUow  the 
pathway  leading  towards  Gwentor." 
"  I  know  it,"  Ruth  murmured. 
"  You  will  walk  along  it  until  it  comes  out  mto  the 
lane.    Then  you  will  go  along  the  lane  to  the  left  up 
the  hill,  and  do  not  stop  until  you  reach  a  place  where 
four  roads  meet." 
"  I  have  never  been  there,"  Ruth  whispered. 
"  There  is  a  stone  upon  the  grass,  and  you  will  sit 
there  and  wait.    I  can't  tell  ye  how  long  you  must 
wait,  but  after  a  time  you  will  see  a  gentleman  coming 
up  the  hill  towards  ye.    He  will  stop  and  ask  what  you 
be  doing  there.    Don't  ye  be  afraid  of  him,  dear, 
but  stand  up  and  answer  him.    Tell  him  how  Master 
Grambla  ha'  used  ye,  and  tell  him  you  ha'  got  no 
home,  and  tell  him  you  '- *.ves  service.    Then  he  will 
take  ye  by  the  hand,  aj  must  go  with  him,  dear, 

for  he  is  a  good  gentle*  .  and  will  take  ye  home. 
Perhaps  the  gentleman  won't  come  by  to-day.  You 
must  wait  at  the  cross  till  evening,  and  if  he  don't 
come  by  you  will  run  back  here  and  bide  the  night 
wi'  me.  You  must  go  quick,  child— as  fast  as  you 
can— else  the  gentleman  may  go  by  before  you  gets 

there."  ,  ^      .  ^, 

Mother  Gothal  opened  her  -ves  and  smiled  weurdly. 

She  seemed  surprised  when  *vaih  began  to  overwhehn 

her  with  gratitude. 
"  What  have  I-  been  saying,  dear  ?    I  be  all  cold 

and  prickly,  while  I  tells  the  future,  and  when  I 

wakes  up  I  don't  know  what  I've  said." 


122 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


/ 


"  I  am  to  go  to  the  cross-roads,  and  wait  there  until 
a  gentleman  finds  me." 

"  Which  way  was  you  to  go,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  By  the  track  to  the  left  of  the  pathway  round 
Great  Gwentor." 

"  'Twould  be  Wartha  Cross." 

"  I  was  to  s.art  at  once,  lest  I  miss  the  gentleman." 

"  Run  then,  dear  !  Run,  my  pretty  !  Don't  ye  heed 
tired  lego  while  you  run  to  tht  future.  And  when  you 
see  the  moon,  be  sure  to  drop  a  curtsy  and  to  kiss  your 
hand." 

With  a  last  word  of  thankfulness  Ruth  hurried 
away,  throwing  heart  and  will  into  her  task,  so  that 
she  reached  the  cross  in  less  than  half  an  hour.  No- 
body was  in  sight,  and  few  parishioners,  not  guided 
to  the  spot  by  lunar  spells,  were  likely  to  pass ;  fcr 
the  two  roads  made  a  cross  upon  high  mooriand,  and 
were  used  chiefly  by  peat-cutters  or  traveUers  with 
their  packhorses. 

Down  upon  the  stone  sat  the  excited  maiden  and 
laughed  for  joy,  but  did  not  forget  to  thank  heaven 
for  guiding  her  to  Mother  Gothal. 

She  was  pativ^.t  for  one  hour,  but  nobody  came. 
She  waited  for  two  nours,  then  growing  tired  of  weaving 
romances,  which  all  ended  in  the  same  way,  and  be- 
coming a  little  chilled,  she  walked  about  the  stone,  and 
finally  clambered  on  it  to  look  along  every  road.  She 
saw  only  black  moorland  hard  by,  with  trees  and 
hedges  in  the  distance. 

She  waited  another  hour,  then  her  tears  came  again, 
for  she  began  to  fear  that  the  kind  old  woman  had 
deceived  her  ;  and  she  was  wicked  enough  to  question 
whether  Mother  Gothal  could  really  have  flown  up  to 
the  moon  and  returned  to  earth  in  less  than  twenty 
minutes. 

Again  Ruth  sat  upon  the  stone,  which  she  dare  not 
leave,  her  head  bowed  upon  her  knees,  knowing  that 
evening  was  near,  feeling  she  had  been  sent  upon  a 


i 


RUTH  IN  FAIRYLAND  123 

foolish  errand.  Her  bruised  body  ached,  and  her 
mind  was  iii  pain  with  the  knowledge  she  would  soon 
be  dragging  her  weary  feet  towards  Poldnfty.  bhe 
prayed  to  the  old  gentleman  of  the  moon,  and  kissed 
her  little  wet  hand,  and  tried  to  curtsy ;  then  she 
prayed  to  the  proper  place  ;  and  at  last  she  fingered 
the  hidden  trinket  of  her  poor  drowned  mother,  and 

prayed  to  her.  .  j  •,  .• 

"  Why  are  you  weeping,  child  ?  ,  *i 

Ruth  sprang  up  with  a  cry.  There  wa^  the  gentle- 
man standing  upon  the  grass,  and  he  was  the  same  mys- 
terious bearded  priest  who  had  entered  ComagenaU  to 
bless  her.  The  same  in  figure  and  the  same  in  kmdness. 

"  Oh.  sir !   I  have  waited  for  you  such  a  long  tune, 
she  stammered. 
"  Were  you  expecting  me,  Ruth  ? 

"  Mother  Gothal  told  me.  sir.  if  I  waited  here  you 
would  come  for  me." 

"  And  you  believed  Mother  Gothal  ? 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  know  she  is  a  very  powerful  witch.  She 
rides  up  to  the  moon  upon  her  broomstick." 

"  I  see  you  are  cold  and  tired.  How  came  t  lose 
marks  upon  your  face  ?  " 

"  I  fell,  sir,  and  cut  my  mouth." 

"  Did  not  your  master  beat  you  ?  " 

"  That  is  true,  sir."  ,, 

"  You  have  served  Grambla  for  many  years  ? 

"  All  my  life,  sir." 

"  Now  you  have  left  him." 

"  Sir,  he  sent  me  away." 

"  What  did  he  give  you  beyond  kicks  and  bruises  f 

"  Nothing,  sir." 

"  No  desire  for  vengeance,  Ruth  ?  ' 

"  If  I  might  be  happy,  sir,  I  should  not  think  of  him 

agam."  „ 

"  Could  you  pray  for  him,  Ruth  ? 

"  Yes.  sir,  if  I  were  happy ;   but  when  wretched  I 
can  pray  only  for  myself." 


124 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  What  is  your  desire  ?  " 

"  T'»  be  taken  into  your  service,  sir." 

"  Do  you  know  me  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  you,  sir,  but  I  believe  you  have  seen 
my  mother," 

"  Your  motheris  dead." 

"  I  did  not  see' you  walk  along  the  road.  I  prayed 
to  my  mother,  and  then  you  spoke  to  me." 

"  You  believe  I  am  a  magician  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  am  sure." 

"  What  is  that  you  have  dropped  from  your  apron  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  sir." 

"  Look  again,  child." 

"It  is  a  rose !  A  rose  in  March !  Now  I  know 
you  are  a  magician." 

"  Yet  you  are  not  afraid  of  me." 

"  I  should  be  afraid,  sir,  if  you  called  up  the  dandy- 
dogs  ;  but  I  have  no  fear  of  a  magician  who  makes 
the  roses  bloom  in  March." 

"  Where  would  you  have  gone  had  I  not  passed  this 
way  ?  " 

"  Sir,  my  heart  would  have  failed  me.  May  I  keep 
this  rose  ?  " 

"  It  is  yours,  chUd.    Will  you  come  with  me  ?  " 

i;  Gladly,  sir." 

"  If  I  take  you  to  my  home,  you  must  learn  obedience 
and  avoid  curiosity  You  must  not  go  into  any  part 
which  is  forbidden,  nor  try  to  open  any  door ;  and  you 
must  not  reveal  any  secret  of  the  house  to  strangers." 

"  Sir,  I  wiU  be  obedient." 

"  Come,"  said  the  priest,  and  they  set  off  down  the 
hill. 

They  passed  along  a  road  where  Ruth  had  never 
walked  before  ;  while  the  calm  bearded  priest  talked 
so  kindly  she  could  hardly  tell  whether  it  was  morning 
or  evening ;  nor  could  she  tell  how  far  they  went. 

They  came  into  a  dark  lane,  where  the  budding  trees 
met  overhead;    so  that  sunshine,  even  in  summer, 


RUTH  IN  FAIRYLAND 


xas 


could  not  reach  the  track.  As  far  as  Ruth  could  see 
all  was  moss  and  ferns ;  but  the  moss  was  greener, 
and  the  ferns  were  larger,  than  any  she  had  ever  seen 
before ;  and  now  she  knew  this  was  one  of  the  roads 
to  fairyland. 

"  I  suppose,  sir,  we  are  now  a  very  long  way  from 
Moyle  church-town  ?  " 
"  Here  is  the  boundary." 

A  stream  ran  across  the  lane,  and  it  was  now  so 
dark  that  the  water  wa«  hardly  visible.  Ruth  shrank 
away,  feeUng  sure  she  was  about  to  leave  the  world  of 
human  beings  ;  but  the  priest  gathered  her  up  in  his 
arms  and  carried  her  across  upon  unseen  stepping- 
stones. 

The  road  beyond  became  darker  and  narrower; 
still  they  went  downhill.  Ruth  seized  the  guide's 
right  hand,  and  hardly  dared  to  look  ahead  when  he 
opened  the  gate  and  said,  "  Now  we  are  ahnost  home." 
They  went  along  a  path  between  great  trees,  and 
came  out  upon  a  gravel  walk  which  described  all 
manner  of  windings  among  shrubs  and  beside  beds  of 
tulips.  Ruth  knew  that  tulips  were  favoured  by  the 
fairies,  therefore  she  was  not  surprised  to  see  them. 
The  air  became  milder  ;  not  a  twig  shook ;  there  was 
no  sign  of  human  life  in  thi-^  enchanted  country.  But 
as  they  went  on  she  heard  the  most  wonderful  music, 
and  stayed  to  listen. 

"  So  you  have  never  heard  the  harp  before,"  said 
the  guide. 

Suddenly  an  almost  overpowering  warmth  met 
Ruth,  and  a  dim  light  reached  her  eyes.  She  had 
never  dreamed  of  anything  like  this.  The  roof  appeared 
to  be  made  of  crystal ;  flowers  of  every  colour  were 
around  her  ;  roses  brushed  her  cheek  ;  while  the  rich 
perfume  made  her  dizzy.  So  this  was  the  under- 
world I  The  old  woman  of  the  farm  had  told  her  about 
it,  and  had  suggested  she  had  been  there  herself,  only 
she  could  not  quite  remember  all  the  details.    Ruth 


126 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


was  glad  to  be  there,  but  fully  determined  to  return 
to  the  other  world  when  she  had  saved  some  money. 

At  last  she  found  herself  in  a  large  room  which  she 
could  recognise ;  for  it  was  undoubtedly  a  kitchen, 
although  she  had  never  seen  anything  so  magnificent 
in  her  life.  The  priest  had  disappeared,  but  an  elderly 
woman,  who  spoke  English  very  ill,  stood  beside  her ; 
and  a  number  of  other  fairies,  who  looked  like  men 
and  women,  bustled  about,  speaking  strange  languages  ; 
and  a  queer  little  gnome  walked  up  to  bow  grotesquely 
and  to  promise  Ruth  his  protection  at  all  times  ;  and 
then  a  pert  kitchen-wench  ran  up  and  said,  "  The 
housekeeper  do  wish  to  know  whether  you  eat  supper 
now  quick  and  go  to  bed,  for  she  says  you  are  seemed 
to  be  tired  out." 

"  Oh  yes,  if  you  please,"  Ruth  murmured. 

There  was  so  much  bustle  and  noise  the  girl  hardly 
knew  whether  she  was  dreaming  or  awake,  as  she  sat 
in  a  warm  comer  eating  enchanted  food,  which  tasted 
remarkably  nice.  She  seemed  to  awaken  when  the 
elderly  woman  guided  her  along  a  passage,  up  flight 
after  flight  of  stairs,  and  left  her  in  a  neat  little  room 
with  a  Kind  word  of  farewell  for  the  night ;  but  she  was 
certainly  dreaming  when  a  light  knock  came  upon  the 
door,  and  immediately  there  entered  a  dark  and 
beautiful  lady,  most  magnificently  dressed,  who  came 
up  to  Ruth,  and  kissed  her,  saying  with  a  pretty 
accent,  "  You  are  quite  safe  now,  Ruth.  We  shaU 
take  care  of  you." 

"  I  rm  indeed  in  fairyland  !  "  gasped  Ruth.  "  Oh, 
madam,  are  you  the  queen  ?  " 

"  Oh,  foolish  child  !  "  laughed  her  beautiful  majesty. 
"  I  am  the  Lady  Just." 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE  ATTORNEY  ENJOYS  A  STROKE  OF  GREAT 
GOOD  FORTUNE 

Toby  the  trifler  waited  upon  Jacob  after  the  dinner 
hour,  and  discovered  the  li  .tie  gtntleman  in  uncommon 
good-humour;  for  business  went  well,  his  enemies 
appeared  in  full  flight,  and  the  apparition  had  ceased 
to  trouble.  But  the  parchment  face  became  IHed 
with  creases  when  the  spy  began  his  tattle. 

Toby  sat  upon  a  chest  of  consciences,  and  carved  a 
peg-top  for  his  own  amusement  while  he  told  a  taie  : 

"  When  last  I  go  through  Bezurrel  Woods  I  knew 
something  is  going  on.  I  see  a  cart  of  clay,  and  a  load 
of  reed ;  and  I  haven't  cut  two  whip-staves  from  the 
blackthorn  when  a  load  of  stone  goes  by.  Carts, 
drivers,  and  horses  were  strangers,  master ;  all  from 
t'other  side  of  the  brook.  I  dare  not  follow,  for  I 
know  them  chaps  of  the  next  parish  are  ever  on  the 
look-out  to  crack  a  head  of  Moyle.  I  cut  another  whip- 
staff,  and  am  slipping  away  when  one  of  Sir  Thomas's 
idolaters  catches  me,  and  he  takes  my  whip-staves, 
and  whips  me  with  the  bljgest ;  and  the  louder  I 
swear  the  harder  he  whips.  I  aren't  been  easy  in  my 
back  parts  since." 

"  You,  a  free  Comishman,  allow  yourself  to  be 
whipped  by  a  negro  !  "  said  the  disdainful  Jacob. 

"  Master,  he  wam't  a  negro.  He  wam't  black,  nor 
red,  nor  yet  white.  He  was  cob  colour.  He  didn't 
ask  me  for  permission  before  he  whipped.  If  he  had 
asked  I  would  never  have  allowed  him  to  whip  me.  I 
go  back  when  'tis  dark  and  cut  me  two  more  whip- 

127 


128 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


staves ;  and  I  follow  the  cart-tracks  tiU  I  get  near 
the  stream ;  and  I  run  into  a  waJl  where  no  wsdl  was 
last  week,  and  I  know  by  the  smell  'tis  all  fresh  cob. 
I  sit  me  down  on  a  pile  of  reed,  and  think  it  out  as 
artful  as  yourself ;  and  at  last  I  say,  '  Sir  Thomas  is 
a-building  a  little  house  in  this  wood.'  Then  I  think 
a  bit  more  out,  and  I  say, '  He  gets  men  from  the  next 
parish  to  build  it.'  I  think  again,  and  1  get  so  artful 
that  I  sweat ;  for  I  know,  master.  Sir  Thomas  is  afraid 
of  you  finding  out  he  is  a-building  a  little  house  m 
Berurrel  Wood." 

"You  have  much  information,"  said  Jacob.  "I 
have  a  great  respect  for  you,  Mr.  Penrice.  I  love  you, 
sir.  You  are  the  only  parishioner  with  enough  wit  to 
discover  that  Sir  Thomas  Just  is  indeed  afraid  of  me." 

"  I  have  a  very  tidy  wit.  Master  Grambla,"  said 
Toby.  "  I  have  money  too,  sir,  as  you  know.  I  have 
not  a  wife,  but  I  do  not  despair  of  getting  one." 

"  Proceed,"  said  the  attorney.  "  And  do  not  forget 
to  tell  the  parishioners  how  mightily  Sir  Thomas  stands 
in  awe  of  me." 

"  I  go  home  ♦h  liing,  and  I  sleep  thinking,  and  I 
rise  thinking,"  continued  Toby.  "  I  watch  the  path- 
way through  the  wood,  and  'tis  near  noon  when 
Clabar  and  that  Peter  come  by,  and  young  Mr.  Martin 
Just  goes  with  them  ;  and  they  talk  about  the  house 
which  is  a-building,  and  they  go  down  towards  it. 
Then  I  think " 

"  Sir  Thomas  builds  a  house  for  the  Clabars  in  his 
woods.  He  takes  them  under  his  protection,"  Jacob 
muttered,  unable  longer  to  play  the  part  of  listener. 
"  What  are  the  Clabars  to  him  ?  They  are  paupers — 
they  have  no  fortune — yet  he  gives  them  land,  and 
house,  and  friendship.  He  has  shown  no  kindness  to 
any  other  man  or  woman.  He  bestows  no  thought 
upon  the  parish.  I  promise  you  he  has  never  walked 
in  the  church-town.  Yet  by  his  arts  he  discovers 
there  are  Clabars  1 " 


A  STROKE  OF  GOOD  FORTUNE       129 

"  True,  master !  I  have  trespassed  upon  E  .rrel 
land  a  hundred  times,  yet  Sir  Thomas  has  shown  no 
kindness  to  me,"  said  Toby.  "  'Tb  a  dark  rogue, 
sir.  He  arrives  from  the  East  with  an  outlandish 
woman.  No  one  save  the  servants  are  allowed  near 
the  castle,  and  they  are  from  Arabia,  and  'tis  said 
they  be  bound  by  dreadful  spells.  Sir  Thomas  dwells 
in  bis  magic  chambers,  brewing  from  fearful  herbs 
which  poison  the  air  for  miles— ay,  and  kill  the  fishes 
in  the  sea— and  at  night  he  reads  from  his  books  and 
calls  up  spirits.  Lady  Just  sits  at  her  window  playing 
and  singing,  and  calling  the  mermaids  out  of  the  sea. 
Many  a  fisherman  will  tell  ye  they  have  seen  hundreds  of 
spirits  coming  out  of  the  rocks,  and  out  of  churchyard, 
and  flying  to  Bezurrel  when  they  hear  her  singing." 

Toby  having  been  dismissed,  Jacob  sat  for  a  long 
tune  deep  in  thought.  Then  he  left  the  office  and 
walked  to  Poldrifty  Downs  ;  but  he  came  in  vain,  fcr 
the  crazy  hovel  was  closed,  and  Mother  Gothal  had 
plainly  been  absent  for  some  time,  as  her  fire  was  a 
heap  of  ashes.  So  Jacob  retraced  his  steps,  and  had 
reached  the  path  across  the  fields  when  he  remembered 
Ruth ;  or  rather  it  occurred  to  him  that  Coinagehall 
stood  empty. 

Never  had  the  house  looked  so  grim,  although  the 
sun  was  shining  upon  its  walls,  and  bees  were  merry 
in  th<  ,  It  was  the  mind  of  the  man  which  made 
it  grim.  The  house  would  have  looked  the  same  had 
it  been  the  home  of  happy  people,  or  had  Ruth  been 
working  in  the  kitchen.  But  to  Jacob  it  was  empty, 
and  that  knowledge  made  the  walls  seem  awful. 
Emptiness  invited  terror  which  the  presence  of  the 
meanest  maiden  might  have  banished.  Jacob  had  no 
love  for  his  fellow-creatures  ;  but  he  liked  them  near 
him,  as  submissive  beings,  when  the  night  drew  on. 
Something  had  irritated  him  all  day  by  striking 
against  his  leg  at  every  movement.  Now  he  remem- 
bered it  was  the  key  of  that  prison-like  door — the 


130 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


suggestion  of  prison  came  also  from  his  mind — and 
when  his  hand  drew  forth  the  little  bar  of  iron  he 
thought  of  chains  and  cells.  He  entered,  leaving  the 
door  open  to  admit  more  light,  and  went  on  tiptoe 
to  the  kitchen ;  for  he  was  afraid  to  disturb  that 
silence  which  seemed  to  own  the  place.  He  saw 
Ruth's  working  apron,  and  upon  the  table  her  knitting. 
The  loose  thread  trailed  upon  the  floor  in  the  form  of 
a  question  mark :  Why  did  you  save  me  from  the 
sea  ?  Why  did  you  make  me  your  slave  ?  Why  have 
you  cast  me  out  ?  Jacob  laughed  for  answer,  and  the 
empty  house  laughed  with  him. 

"  She  was  learning  too  quickly,"  he  muttered. 
"  Her  age  made  her  dangerous — I  had  forgot  until 
yesterday  how  old  she  was.  I  discharged  her,  not 
because  she  secreted  a  lover  in  my  house,  nor  yet 
because  she  stole  my  guineas,  but  because  it  was 
time  for  her  to  go.  I  would  have  kept  her  one  more 
year — ^no  longer — for  she  was  a  ready  wench,  and  could 
serve  a  simple  dinner.  I  did  better  than  I  thought. 
Sir  Thomas  has  taken  a  liking  to  the  Clabars.  Had 
the  wench  stayed,  he  might  also  have  shown  some 
kindness  to  her— he  might  even  have  practised  his 
enchantments  upon  her ;  and  thus  have  discovered 
what  breed  she  comes  of." 

He  spoke  aloud,  and  as  the  sound  of  1 /^  words  died 
away  silence  closed  down  with  a  shock.  Some  demon 
of  dumbness  seemed  to  be  master  of  the  kitchen  ; 
but  when  Jacob  had  glanced  at  the  false  face  of  the 
clock  he  discovered  its  garrulity  had  ceased.  Opening 
the  case  he  drew  up  the  weights,  but  the  clock  re- 
mained silent.  The  spring  had  broken  while  Ruth 
wept  beside  it. 

"  Nay,  if  there  is  a  conspiracy  of  silence  against 
me,  my  tongue  shall  break  it."  cried  Jacob.  "  Tiie 
wench  is  but  a  weakling.  She  cannot  stand  rough 
weather,  and  if  she  could  some  rascal  of  the  road 
would  break  her  head  for  the  sake  of  the  clothes  she 


A  STROKE  OF  GOOD  FORTUNE       131 

carried— though  they  were  patched  till  the  first  piece 
had  disappeared.  I  would  have  made  her  safe  by 
marriage.  Ay,  I  would  have  put  on  a  fine  coai  and 
gone  to  church  with  her— for  a  wife  is  your  only 
kitchen-wench.  She  may  give  no  evidence  against 
you ;  and  you  may  starve  your  good  woman ;  and 
you  may  whip  her  soundly— moreover  you  may  with 
firmness  break  her  heart.  I  perceive  the  sun  is 
setting — darkness  in  one  hour.  The  good  man  loves 
the  light,  the  evil  man  hates  it.  I  am,  by  this  same 
reckoning,  the  most  worthy  soul  alive." 

The  stillness,  as  night  drew  near,  could  not  increase, 
but  it  remained  :  not  a  bird  sang  in  the  shrubberies, 
nor  was  there  movement  in  the  tall  bleached  stems  of 
last  year's  grass.  Jacob  went  for  fuel  and  made  a 
fire;  and  that  burnt  noiselessly.  He  searched  the 
cupboards  and  procured  some  food.  He  hurried  to 
the  door  and  closed  it,  for  the  first  deep  shadows 
were  about  to  pass  inside.  The  dog-gates,  which 
had  been  fastened  against  the  wall  for  many  years, 
he  now  released  and  closed  across  the  foot  of  the 

stairs. 

There  seemed  mischief  in  the  evening,  for  the  sky 
was  wild  with  jagged  clouds  and  bands  of  scarlet 
westward.  Jacob  was  glad  to  lock  the  shutters  and 
to  light  candles,  which  added  illusion  to  the  darkness 
while  they  gave  him  light.  He  set  them  about  the 
kitchen  and  watched  the  steady  flames,  but  shivered 
as  a  red  cap  formed  upon  each  wick.  The  spirit  of 
mischief  was  upon  the  candles.  He  huddled  over  the 
fire,  growing  colder.  He  held  his  hands  close  to  the 
logs,  but  the  bright  red  patches  seemed  to  have  been 
painted ;  and  he  had  scarce  courage  to  walk  round 
the  room  to  snuff  off  those  vile  red  caps. 

"  Man  was  not  made  to  live  alone.  Why,  there's 
some  truth  in  that,"  he  muttered.  "  I  would  not  live 
in  Coinagehall  alone.  An  old  house,  and  full  of 
memories.    Many  a  man,  woman,  and  child  have  died 


132 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


in  the  rooms  above,  and  been  carried  down  those 
stairs— yet  the  place  is  not  haimted.     I  know  not 
why  a  man  should  fear  to  dwell  alone.    He  does  not 
fear  night   upon  the  road  where  highwaymen  are 
abroad ;   but  within  a  house— ah,  what  is  that  ?    A 
shadow— I  would  make  sure  of  that.    Ay,  the  shadow 
of  my  head.    A  man  when  alone  will  shudder  at  a 
cricket  on  the  hearth.    I  would  obtain  a  charm  against 
these  fancies.     I  had  forgot  the  evening,  the  long 
night.    'Tis  not  good,  I  say.    To-morrow  I  will  bring 
Mother  Gothal  from  Poldrifty— will  give  the  good 
soul  a  black  gown,  a  handful  of  coppers,  a  kind  word 
or  two.    She  will  leave  her  hole  in  the  rocks  gladly, 
and  will  serve  me  well.    Moreover  she  will  advise  me. 
Men  and  women  were  made  to  live  together — there's 
authority  for  that.    I  would  examine  some  papers  in 
my  box,  but  I  like  not  to  leave  this  fire— I  did  not 
think  the  night  would  come  so  cold.    If  I  had  servants, 
I  would  read  them  prayers.    'Tis  a  good  custom,  and 
a  fitting  ending  to  the  day.    I  would  read  a  chapter 
from  the  Bible,  but  I  know  not  where  to  find  the 
book.    I  have  not  seen  it  of  late.    Ruth  would  not 
have  needed  it— I  believe  she  had  not  learnt  her  letters. 
I  fear  me  she  was  not  God-fearing— would  lie  and  steal. 
I  did  well.    I  would  find  the  Bible.    'Tis  a  protection 
against  evil  spirits." 

The  dying  down  of  the  fire  forced  him  to  rise  for 
fuel.  Moving  stealthily,  he  brought  wood,  piled  it 
upon  the  hearth,  stared  into  every  corner;  then 
seated  himself  upon  a  wooden  stool  within  the  ingle- 
nook,  and  continued  his  defiant  meditations  : 

"  That  Jacob  Grambla  has  worked  hard.  Should 
be  a  wealthy  man,  for  he  misses  no  day,  except  it  be 
Sunday,  when  he  will  do  his  duty  as  a  Christian— 
never  goes  to  fair  or  market  save  on  business.  If  soil 
was  silver  and  cottages  were  gold,  he  would  be  wealthy. 
That  Jacob  Grambla  would  spend  with  an  open  hand, 
for  he  is  no  miser,  mark  you  ;  he  perceives  the  folly  of 


A  STROKE  OF  GOOD  FORTUNE       133 

getting  a  fortune  and  leaving  it  to  others.  He  knows 
life  is  but  a  chase  after  wealth,  and  the  man  who 
leaves  behind  a  scent  of  guineas  will  be  hunted.  Jacob 
Grambla  would  see  them  in  full  cry  after  him— squires, 
parsons,  high-bom  rakes,  merchants  of  trade.  He 
would  flatter,  call  them  friends,  ease  each  shoe  where 
the  pinch  was  sharpest.  Would  teach  them  to  say  to 
neighbours, '  At  the  sign  of  the  scales  in  Moyle  church- 
town  the  affairs  of  gentlemen  are  arranged  by  Jacob 
Grambla.'  He  would  furnish  this  house  after  the 
latest  fashion,  fill  this  kitchen  with  servants,  give 
dinners  and  routs.  Would  stand  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  in  a  peach-bloom  coat  to  welcome  his  guests, 
'■  Sir,  this  condescension  overvhelms  me  * ;  '  Madam, 
thk  is  too  great  an  honour.'  Would  rise  at  the  head 
of  the  table  and  toast  the  company.  Would  learn 
some  pretty  speeches  from  the  novels.  Why,  sir, 
there's  money  to  be  got  by  this  same  scenting  of  the 
track  with  guineas.  There's  honour,  there's  a  rubbing 
of  low-bom  shoulders  with  the  high-bom,  there's  a 
mighty  good  respectability — and  they  who  come  to 
flatter  stay  to  borrow.  Tmst  Jacob  Grambla  how  to 
use  the  borrower !  " 

Courage  was  rising  while  his  limbs  began  to  glow. 
Aheady  he  saw  Coinagehall  the  mansion  of  a  rich  man, 
and  himself  dictator.  He  grew  careless  of  the  night, 
disdained  the  silence,  almost  forgot  his  loneliness  and 
Ruth ;  while  he  chatted  to  this  best  of  all  companions  : 

"  Jacob  Grambla  has  the  conscience  of  a  Whig  ;  but 
he  who  would  rise  must  sink  his  best  opinions.  To  my 
lord  and  lady  he  would  proclaim  Whiggism  as  the 
invention  of  the  devil.  As  a  good  Tory  he  would  buy 
a  borough.  He  knows  of  one  ripe  for  the  purse  ;  the 
price  one  thousand  guineas — ^no  more  than  sixty  votes 
to  be  paid  and  feasted.  A  man  in  Parliament  has  his 
fingers  in  the  treasury — 'twould  be  an  evil  fate  if  Jacob 
Grambla  could  not  get  in  his  hand  ;  for  he  is  a  man  of 
learning  and  great  wit — ^worthy  to  be  my  Lord  Chief 


134 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


Justice — ^who  understands  the  human  nature,  and  can 
measure  it ;  who  has  a  kindly  disposition  and  some 
knowledge  of  good  manners — is  that  the  wind,  or 
creaking  of  a  door,  was  that  a  footstep  ? — and  who 
fears  God.  These  cursed  candles  !  The  light  is  half 
extinguished  by  the  snuff." 

Suddenly  cold  again,  he  crept  from  the  fireside 
comer,  and  reached  out  a  hand  for  the  snuffers.  But 
he  did  not  raise  the  arm,  and  the  implement  rattled 
on  the  floor.  The  door  was  flung  open,  and  upon  the 
threshold  stood  Red  Cap,  the  woimd  upon  his  forehead 
and  a  smoky  light  surrounding  him. 

Jacob  had  fallen  upon  the  stone  floor,  and  there  he 
lay  with  his  face  hidden,  while  the  kitchen  became 
noisy  with  the  thumping  of  his  heart.  The  spell  of 
silence  seemed  to  have  been  broken ;  for  the  wind 
now  whispered  about  the  house,  and  owls  hooted  from 
the  meadows. 

Jacob  dragged  himself  half  upright,  gasping  and 
dribbling  at  the  mouth,  yet  knowing  the  worst  was 
over.  He  had  survived  the  shock  of  receiving  the 
apparition  ;  therefore  he  could  bear  to  speak. 

"  In  the  name  of  God,"  he  gasped. 

The  spirit  made  wild  movements  with  its  arms. 

"^  Who  are  you  ?    Why  do  ye  come  to  haunt  me  ?  " 

"  Now  that  you  have  addressed  me,  I  may  answer. 
I  come  to  guide  you  to  the  place  where  the  gold  lies 
buried." 

As  the  spirits  of  a  ship's  company  revive  when  the 
harbour  is  sighted,  after  storm,  so  did  the  attorney's 
courage  leap  back  when  he  heard  this  utterance.  He 
dragged  hunself  fully  upright,  rememoering  all  that 
Mother  Gothal  had  told  him  regarding  the  power  of 
Red  Cap  ;  and  was  now  able  to  look  upon  that  ghastly 
face  with  its  running  wound  and  the  smoky  death- 
fiunes  round  it ;  hardly  shivering  as  he  said,  "  You 
come  to  aid  me." 

"  I  am  sent  that  you  may  profit  by  my  example. 


m 


A  STROKE  OF  GOOD  FORTUNE   135 

You  long  for  wealth,  Jacob  Grambla.  So  did  I.  You 
shall  have  wealth,  even  as  I  won  it." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  lived  here  once.  Wealth  brought  no  happiness 
to  me,  for  I  made  ill  use  of  it.  I  spent  it  to  the  glorifica- 
tion of  myself— and  at  last,  Jacob  Grambla,  I  killed 
myself.  See  the  wound  which  I  must  bear  through  all 
eternity  1 " 

"  I  like  not  your  appearance,"  said  the  lawyer. 
"  Yet  I  give  you  a  hearty  welcome." 

"  Come  1 "  said  the  ghost,  retreating  into  the  dark- 
ness of  the  hall,  where  his  squat  figure  gleamed  most 

horribly.  ,      ,      ^  »..   , 

Jacob  wa'  ''r'  ng  to  follow,  but  found  his  legs 
powerless.  xw-ru„  nad  deserted  his  mind  to  take  firm 
hold  upon  his  feet. 

"  Come  !  "  cried  the  spirit.  "  Come,  or  you  lose  the 
treasure.  After  to-night  I  may  not  be  permitted  to 
reveal  it." 

"  Where  would  you  lead  me  ?  "  Jacob  muttered, 
fearing  to  venture  into  the  night  with  this  graveyard 
comrade. 

"  Follow,  and  you  shall  know." 

"  My  desire  is  to  go  with  you,  but  I  lack  the  strength 
to  move." 

"  Come  !  "  shouted  the  ghost.  "  The  devil  and  his 
angels  give  you  strength.  Now  I  perceive  you  are  a 
man  again !  " 

It  was  indeed  true  that,  immediately  these  words 
were  spoken,  Jacob  found  himself  able  to  follow  his 
guide,  who  muttered  as  they  left  the  house,  "  I  charge 
you  address  me  no  more  in  the  Name  of  God ;  for  if 
you  do  so  I  shall  depart  from  you." 

They  crossed  the  fields,  entered  the  lane,  and  con- 
tinued towards  Poldrifty,  following  the  exact  course 
taken  by  Ruth  a  few  hours  earlier ;  Red  Cap  going 
ahead  in  his  own  smoky  atmosphere  which  smelt  un- 
commonly nasty  ;  striding  along  with  a  gait  so  natural 


III 


ii 


136 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


that  Jacob  was  forced  to  mutter.  "  Truly  a  man  walks 
very  like  his  ghost  I  " 

K  "^^ey  ascended  towards  the  rough  pathway  trodden 
by  Kuth  durmg  her  journey  from  the  witch's  hovel  to 
her  cross  of  waiting ;  but  left  it  presently  to  enter  the 
heather  and  make  the  steeper  climb  towards  the  highest 
point  m  all  the  parish.  ^ 

u'u  S^.™t^^^  ^^^  *^^  summit  of  Great  Gwentor.  the 
hill  of  Arthurs  queen."  said  Jacob  pleasantly,  begin- 
ning to  smile  and  chafe  his  hands.  "  Time  out  of 
mmd  have  tales  been  told  of  treasure  buried  there.  I 
thank  heaven " 

1,  "  ^^*  was  that  name  you  uttered  ?  "  cried  the 
keen  Red  Cap,  pausing  among  the  heath  and  shivering. 
I  praise  the  powers  of  darkness,"  exclauned  Jacob 
piously.  Sir,  I  humbly  thank  your  master  for  what 
small  knowledge  I  possess." 

They  continued  to  ascend  without  more  words  and 
came  among  the  boulders  which  time  and  confusion 
had  heaped  upon  the  top.    Reaching  a  mossy  slope 
the  ghost  came  to  a  stand  beside  a  long  fiat  stone ' 

f^^i'^l^^^  ^^^  S^^^^^y  ^^^^  towards  the  lawyer  asked! 
What  does  this  stone  recall  ?  " 

"  'Tis  very  like  a  tombstone." 

1-  IPs  "P?."  y^"'^  ^^^^  ^^  ^y  *^is  glimmer  of  moon- 
light decipher  what  is  written  here." 

t  ,P^..^i.*°"J.^y  obeyed,  and  presently  spoke  respect- 
lully  bir.  there  is  nothing  written.  Many  such  stones 
are  to  be  found  upon  this  moorland,  and  'tis  said 
savages  of  old  lie  buried  under  them." 

Your  eyes  are  dull.  Mine  read  upon  this  surface 
bacred  to  the  memory  of  an  honest  gentleman  ;  who 
?  ,,  „?  ^^  ^"^"'^^'  respected  by  enemies,  mourned 
by  all.  His  vulues  were  numerous  ;  his  faults  founded 
upon  generosity.'  Thus  it  was  said  of  me.  Jacob 
Grambla,  when  I  had  ended  my  life  of  vice.  My  body 
lies  beneath  this  stone.  There  lies  a  portion  of  the 
gold  I  lost  myself  to  win." 


■■ 


A  STROKE  OF  GOOD  FORTUNE       137 

"  If  it  wottld  please  you,  sir,  to  have  your  body 
removed  and  reinterred  in  holy  ground,  I  will  see  to  it." 

"  It  does  not  please  me.  Lift  that  stone,  and  my 
curse  shall  follow  you.  The  gold,  Jacob  Grair/ala ! 
Will  you  take  it,  or  leave  it  ?  " 

"  Have  you  not  brought  me  here  that  I  may  take 
it  ?    To  leave  it  would  be  sinful." 

"  You  may  take  the  gold,  yet  I  would  have  you 
know  it  brings  a  curse  to  him  who  handles  it.  Beneath 
this  cairn  of  stone  it  lies,  a  sum  sufficient  to  make  you 
wealthy.  Some  thousands  of  gold  pieces,  Jacob 
Grambla." 

"  Sir,"  gasped  the  lawyer,  "  is  it  not  possible  to 
take  the  gold,  and  yet  evade  the  curse  ?  " 

"  Surely  it  is.  Spend  the  treasure  well,  use  it  to  aid 
the  weak  and  suffering,  to  relieve  the  widow  and  orphan 
— as  I  did  not — then  a  blessing  shall  follow.  Spend  it 
upon  yourself,  upon  making  your  name  great,  upon 
flatterers  and  those  willing  to  be  bribed — even  as  I  did 
—then,  Jacob  Grambla,  my  fate  shall  be  yours  ;  you 
also  shall  die  by  your  own  hand  ""nd  your  spirit  shall 
cling  for  ever  to  the  earth  whe.        ni  body  lies." 

"  I  take  the  treasure,  and  shall     ^  it  well,  so  help 

me "    He  broke  off,  not  daring  to  utter  the  Name 

which  was  forbidden ;  while  the  spectre  laughed  to 
hear  him  stammer,  then  stretching  out  an  arm  towards 
the  stone  heap  muttered  solemnly,  "  Dig  there,  if  you 
have  the  courage  to  be  wealthy.  Use  the  gold  well, 
and  we  shall  not  meet  again.  Use  it  ill,  and  I  appear. 
By  the  sign  of  my  coming  you  shall  know  your  time  is 
short.  Mark  this  place  and  go  your  way  until  the 
morning.  The  night  is  mine.  I  am  doomed  to  haunt 
this  spot  until  the  gold  has  vanished." 

White  stones  lay  upon  the  summit  of  Great  Gwentor. 
Jacob  gathered  a  few  and  placed  them  about  the 
cairn  in  a  manner  which  he  could  not  fail  to  recognise  ; 
then  without  another  w  )rd— f or  speech  now  failed 
him — ^he  sped  away,  ran  from  the  moorland,  and  did 


<  I 
I 

! 


f 


id 


138 


MOYLE  CHXJRCH-TOWN 


not  open  his  mouth  until  he  had  reached  the  fields  of 
Coinagehall.  There  he  clenched  his  fists  and  shouted, 
"To-morrow  I  shall  prove  whether  this  vision  has 
been  sent  by  the  father  of  lies  or  by  the  God  of  truth." 
Something  white  gleamed  upon  the  grass  before  the 
house,  and  he  turned  to  gather  it.  Nothing  terrified 
him  now,  not  even  the  darkness  of  the  interior— for 
the  candles  had  guttered  out,  and  the  fire  was  a  mass  of 
embers— not  the  black  stairs,  nor  the  wind  in  the  rooms 
upstairs.  The  coming  of  the  ghost  had  insured  him 
against  terror,  and  darkness  was  now  soothing  to  his 
soul. 

He  blew  the  embers  into  flame,  lighted  fresh  candles, 
then  toasted  the  midnight  with  a  dram.  He  laughed 
and  lifted  up  his  voice  in  song,  and  turned  some  capers 
about  the  kitchen.  And  his  song  was  always,  "  To- 
night I  am  poor ;  to-morrow  I  shall  be  rich.  God  save 
the  soul  of  Red  Cap— and  may  we  not  meet  again." 

Then  he  fell  into  a  chair  and  smiled  at  his  crooked 
fingers. 

"  Why  should  a  man  fear  ?  "  he  asked  himself  more 
soberly.  "  If  he  goes  to  heaven— well !  If  he  does  not, 
is  it  so  great  a  pimishment  to  wander  about  this  earth  ? 
Heaven— 'tis  a  name.  This  world  I  know  and  love. 
Give  me  this  world,  I  pray,  for  ever  and  evermore. 
And  if  there  be  any  other  spirits  in  this  house,  I  call 
them  now,  I  invite  them  to  appear  before  me,  and  sit 
with  me  beside  this  fire.  I  swear  an  everlasting  com- 
pact with  the  dead— no  psalm-singing  dead  for  me, 
but  honest  Red  Caps,  good  wounded  Red  Caps,  who 
know  where  the  gold  lies  hidden." 

Remembering  the  white  object  he  had  discovered 
upon  the  grass,  he  drew  it  out  and  held  it  to  the  fire- 
light.   It  was  Ruth's  handkerchief,  stained  with  blood. 

"  Yet  I  would  fain  remain  a  Churchman  and  a  Chris- 
tian," he  muttered. 


PART    II 
CHAPTER  I 


THE  COMING  OF  A  NEW  RELIGION 

One  evening  Cherry  wandered  away  from  Bezurrel 
Woods,  and  along  the  lane  to  Moyle.    It  was  early 
summer,  more  than  a  year  having  passed  since  she  and 
her  father  had  taken  possession  of  the  home  built  for 
them  by  Sir  Thomas.    She  looked  stronger  than  ever, 
walked  like  a  man  in  her  long  sack-coat ;  spoke  like 
one ;   gave  the  wall  like  a  gallant  to  wenches  who 
regarded  her  with  sighs;    and  received  the  same 
privilege  herself  from  that  class  of  men  who  ill-used 
their  wives.     Handsome  Peter  had  long  been  the 
wonder  of  three  parishes ;   the  admired  of  maidens, 
and  the  envy  of  youths.   Half-witted,  said  the  gossips, 
because  she  made  garlands  of  flowers  for  the  children, 
and  would  carry  them  into  the  woods  to  hear  her  stories. 
She  heard  a  voice,  which  seemed  to  have  tears 
behind  it,  as  she  came  out  near  a  sandhill,  rather 
higher  than  the  others,  but  without  much  grass  ;  and 
there  was  a  crowd  about  it,  composed  entirely  of  men, 
the  majority  standing,  but  many  on  their  knees  ;  and 
upon  the  summit  of  the  little  hill  stood  a  stranger,  his 
feet  hidden  by  the  sand  ;  a  man  wearing  his  own  long 
hair,  with  a  bushy  beard  and  weather-beaten  face,  and 
two  eyes  staring  from  the  imclipped  tangle;    and 
when  Cherry  drew  near  she  heard  the  great  name,  God, 
shouted  by  this  stranger  many  times. 

"  And  now,  brothers,  I  have  this  one  more  thing  to 
say.    Ye  are  men,  and  God  has  dealt  with  ye  as  with 

139 


140 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


your  masters;  He  gives  the  same  to  all.  Ye  have  not 
eyes  to  read,  nor  fingers  to  write  ;  but  ye  have  ears  to 
hear— thank  God  for  ears,  brothers.  And  ye  have 
brains  to  understand— thank  God  for  brams,  brothers. 
And  ye  have  minds  to  think— thank  God  for  minds, 
brothers.  Are  these  no  gifts  ?  Queen  Anne  upon  her 
throne,  my  Lord  Archbishop  in  his  palace,  have  no 
better ;  for  place  and  power,  brothers,  are  not  so  good 
as  minds  and  brains.  Here  is  the  message  I  have 
come  to  bring  ye— discover  yourselves  as  men ;  use 
the  great  gifts  which  God  has  given  ye ;  think  for 
yourselves ;  be  not  too  ready  to  accept  the  opinions 
of  any  man  ;  do  not  refuse  my  teaching,  neither  a£,Tee 
with  it,  until  ye  have  gone  about  your  duties,  and 
have  searched  in  your  own  minds  for  the  truth — a 
prayer  shall  bring  it,  and  ye  shall  know  by  the  flood 
of  light  within  ye  when  it  comes. 

"  Ye  are  Christians,  brothers.  All  go  to  church,  ana 
hear  the  psahns  sung  by  a  few  hired  mouths,  and  hear 
a  poor  honest  gentleman  read  the  prayers  and  preach 
the  sermon.  Do  ye  thank  God  for  ears  while  ye  sit  in 
the  pews  ?  Do  ye  hold  your  heads  between  your  hands 
and  strive  to  think  ?  Do  ye  feel  the  great  glory  bum 
within  ye  when  ye  hear  the  rough  music  of  the  choir  ? 
Do  ye  hearken  to  the  prayers  ?  Do  the  tears  come 
while  ye  listen  to  the  sermon  ?  Answer  with  a  shout 
brothers.    One  word  will  do  it." 

The  negative  went  up  from  all  around  the  sandhill. 

"  Nay,  the  heads  are  all  nodding  while  they  hear 
the  music  of  the  psahns.  Minds  are  thinking  of  the 
mines  and  fishing-nets  when  the  prayers  are  read. 
And  while  the  poor  honest  gentleman  preaches  his 
sermon  brains  are  all  asleep.  Your  ears  are  not 
touched,  and  your  minds  are  not  stirred,, for  the 
church  gives  ye  no  living  spirit  of  religion.  No  church 
and  no  curate  shall  give  to  a  man  what  he  was  meant 
to  discover  for  himself.  Hear,  brothers,  understand, 
think ;  then  discover  to  yourselves  and  to  each  other 


THE  COMING  OF   A   NEW   RELIGION     141 

whether  church  and  curate  bring  God  to  ye.  If  church 
and  curate  do  not  bring  the  flood  of  glory  into  your 
souls,  how  way  ye  conform  with  a  doctrine  of  dry 
bones  ?  Refuse  to  conform,  though  you  be  sent  to 
prison.  Think  together,  brothers,  and  meet  together ; 
and  let  the  man  who  can  read  be  your  teacher,  and 
let  the  man  who  can  receive  a  message  from  God  be 
your  preacher.  Come  together  in  holy  brotherhood, 
and  open  your  eyes  to  see  God,  and  open  your  ears  to 
receive  His  message ;  and  they  who  have  brains  to 
understand,  and  minds  to  think,  shall  pray  that  their 
brothers  in  darkness  may  receive  the  light." 

Cherry  regarded  the  men  about  her,  and  saw  tears 
trickling  down  their  grimy  cheeks.  Liberty  in  thought, 
enthusiasm  in  religion — ^here  was  indeed  new  teaching  I 
These  men  had  never  thought  for  themselves,  except 
upon  matters  of  daily  life,  upon  their  toil,  their  wives 
and  children,  their  commonplace  necessities.  They 
had  never  even  heard  of  brains  and  minds.  Like  men 
accepting  prison  fare,  they  had  taken  such  religion  as 
had  been  offered,  although  it  was  wrapped  in  words 
they  could  not  imderstand.  And  now  they  were  told 
—these  coarse  miners  and  rough  fishermen,  people 
of  no  account  in  the  eyes  of  a  society  bishop  who  did 
not  visit  his  diocese,  and  a  drunken  vicar  who  had  never 
seen  his  parish— they  were  urged,  in  simple  language, 
to  make  a  new  religion  for  themselves.  Already  they 
were  drifting  from  the  loose  hold  of  an  indifferent 
church.  They  were  set  on  fire  by  this  sermon  from 
the  sandhill.  They  surged  towards  the  preacher  and 
almost  pressed  him  to  the  ground.  Nonconformity  had 
come  to  Moyle  for  ever. 

Cherry  went  her  way,  more  thrilled  by  this  new 
birth  than  she  would  own,  yet  truth,  she  told  herself, 
could  no  t  proceed  from  the  mouth  of  a  strolling  preacher. 
She  looked  back.  The  man  with  the  long  hair  and 
staring  eyes  stood  again  apart  from  the  people,  who 
appeared  to  storm  against  him,  but  his  calm  voice 


142 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


rose  above  their  tempest,  as  he  spoke  of  seedtime  and 
harvest,  of  tares  and  trheat,  of  angel-reapers  of  men's 
deeds,  and  harvest-home  in  heaven.  And  the  shouts 
died  down.  Then  Cherry  saw,  apart  from  the  others, 
an  aged  miner,  bent  and  scarred,  and  he  knelt  upon 
the  sand,  his  hat  before  him,  his  white  hair  fluttering 
in  the  breeze,  and  a  hand  which  lacked  two  fingers 
behind  his  ear. 

The  wind  sprang  up  from  the  sea,  and  Cherry  ran 
with  it  until  she  came  to  a  path  across  the  fields.  She 
wandered  along  and  reached  the  gate  of  the  church- 
yard, but  did  not  enter  because  the  place  seemed  ugly. 
The  fence  had  broken  down  and  old  women  of  the 
neighbourhood  were  pulling  away  pieces  for  their  fires. 
Fowls  were  scratching  upon  the  graves,  and  pigs  routed 
in  the  grass.  The  place  of  the  dead  was  a  paradise  for 
farm-beasts. 

A  slight  figure  rose  and  came  along  the  pathway ; 
recognising  Ruth  the  nameless.  Cherry  advanced  to  meet 
her  with  the  question,  "  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  attending  to  my  grave,"  she  answered. 

"  I  did  not  know  your  family  had  ever  lived  in 
Moyle." 

"  My  mother  is  buried  here." 

"  So  is  mine.    I  do  not  know  your  story." 

"  My  mother  and  I  were  cast  up  by  the  sea." 

"  How  long  ago  was  that  ?  " 

"  When  you  and  I  were  but  a  few  months  old." 

"  Do  you  know  my  story  ?  " 

"  Mother  Gothal  has  told  me.  I  wish  I  could 
remember." 

"  What  would  you  remember  ?  " 

"  The  storm,"  said  Ruth.  "  You  were  bom  in  the 
storm,  and  your  mother  dird.  I  was  brought  here  by 
the  storm,  and  my  mother  died." 

"  What  did  Mo  "  er  Gothal  say  about  me  ?  " 

"  She  told  me  how  your  eyes  changed  not  long  after 
your  birth." 


THE  COMING   OF  A  NEW   RELIGION     143 

"  She  has  never  told  me  that." 

"  You  were  bom  witn  black  eyes,  and  they  changed 
to  grey." 

"  Have  you  told  any  one  of  this  ?  " 

"  Once  when  Sir  Thomas  questioned  me,  I  told  him." 

"  How  did  he  answer  ?  " 

"  He  said  nothing  to  me,  but  he  spoke  in  a  strange 
language  to  my  lady." 

"  I  shall  tell  my  father  and  question  Mother  Gothal." 

"  I  believe  she  changed  your  eyes  with  her  magic, 
when  she  perceived  that  black  eyes  v  ould  not  suit  you." 

"  Will  you  show  me  your  mother's  grave  ?  "  asked 
Cherry. 

"  Gladly,  if  you  will  come  with  me.  I  made  it  neat, 
and  fenced  ic  with  sticks,  but  the  churchwarden  told 
me  I  should  not  have  done  so  without  permission,  and 
when  I  asked  for  permission  he  would  not  give  it 
because  he  claims  this  as  a  grazing-place.  Now  my 
sticks  have  been  taken  away  and  the  pigs  foul  her 
grave." 

"  Are  you  a  papist,  Mistress  Ruth  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  to  be  a  papist  because  that  religion  is 
forbidden." 

"  It  is  a  living  religion,"  said  Cherry,  yet  compelled 
to  think  of  the  preacher  on  the  sandhUl. 

"  Sir  Thomas  may  be  a  papist  because  he  is  a  gentle- 
man. And  you  may  be  a  papist  because  you  are 
strong.  And  the  servants  of  Bezurrel  may  be  papists 
because  they  are  foreigners.  I  have  no  influence,  I 
am  weak,  and  I  am  English." 

"  You  cannot  be  sure  of  that.  Perhaps  your  parents 
were  members  of  the  one  true  church." 

"  I  feel  myself  English.  Here  is  my  grave.  Master 
Clabar." 

"  Why  do  you  call  it  yours  ?  This  grave  belongs  to 
a  dead  church.  You  may  not  even  put  up  a  fence  of 
sticks.  The  beasts  have  more  right  to  this  grave  than 
you." 


144 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


I'f 


me.    The  place  where  she  is 
Mother  Gothal  will  tell  you 


"  My  mother  gives 

buried  must  be  mine. 

how  beautiful  she  war.  " 

"  My  mother  lies  '..,  t liat  far  comer — ^where  those 
vile  hens  are  scratchin,.  \y<i  are  sister  and  brother  here, 
Mistress  Ruth.  We  have  each  of  us  a  beautiful  mother 
buried  in  this  farmy  f<i,  id  both  died  of  the  storm 
while  suckling  Ui— tit  tii.  stone  above  my  mother 
bears  a  name.    Nay.  j  wyiid  not  reproach  you." 

Ruth  had  flushc<^  'it  t'lere  was  more  wonder  in 
her  eyes  than  pain. 

"I  did  not  kno.v  a  ma  coi.ld  look  so  gently, 
while  his  tongue  was    ..r.si.,    v     m  i  j  lured. 

Cherry  turned,  ai  vicir  *  i  I  her  face,  and  kept 
silent    until   they  r^  cAmv  lichgate,  which  was 

crumbling  like  the  reic,  anc  ti    r  she  spoke  again  : 

"  I  am  Cornish,  t]ie  descendant  of  stout  yeomen, 
and  my  rightful  home  is  Coin.igehall ;  while  you, 
Mistress  Ruth,  may  be  a  lady  much  superior  to  me  in 
birth  and  name.  I  am  happy  in  Bezurrel  Woods,  yet 
I  am  not  at  home.  I  would  travel.  I  would  cross  the 
sea.    This  Cornish  parish  is  too  small  for  me." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  leave  it,"  said  Ruth. 

"  Yet  you  were  brought  here  from  another  land." 

"  I  have  a  great  love  for  Coinagehall.  I  long  for  my 
dear  kitchen,  not  indeed,  as  it  is  now,  but  as  I  knew 
it— with  the  warming-pan,  the  dear  old  clock.  All 
lumber  now ! " 

"  I  would  see  my  father  restored,  then  travel," 
said  Cherry.  "  I  was  brought  up  upon  the  other  side 
of  famar,  and  mingled  with  the  sailors  of  Dock. 
From  them  I  learnt  about  the  colony  of  Virginia,  the 
plantations,  the  waste  of  tree-stumps,  the  log-houses, 
the  Indians.  Their  stories  give  me  the  desire  to  see 
this  land  of  settlers  for  myself." 

"  Once  you  came  to  Coinagehall  with  your  father," 
Ruth  whispered  nervously. 

"  The  day  after  my  arrival  in  Moyle." 


THE  COMING  OF  A  NEW  RELIGION     145 

"  And  you  saw  two  apparitions  t  " 

"  Ah  I  Can  I  suspect  you,  fair,  shrinking  Mistress 
Ruth  ?  •• 

"  I  was  one  of  the  ghosts." 

"  The  other  ?  " 

"The  man  whose  life  and  liberty  I  fought  for.  Pardon 
me,  Master  Clabar.  The  trick  was  played  to  save  my 
lover." 

"  I  come  to  know  your  history,"  said  Cherry.  "  My 
father  often  talks  about  that  vision,  and  now  believes 
it  was  an  omen  sent  to  cheer  him.  I  shall  say  nothing 
to  disturb  his  faith.   Tell  me  of  your  lover." 

"  Now  you  do  not  speak  like  a  man,"  said  Ruth,  but 
her  eyes  were  troubled,  for  she  had  no  good  account  to 
give.  Yet  she  told  the  story  which  had  ended  in  the 
primrose  copse,  then  put  the  question,  "  Do  you 
suppose.  Master  Clabar,  I  shall  hear  from  him  again  ?  " 

"  Why  yes.  Mistress  Ruth.  If  he  is  worthy  he  will 
return  some  day  with  a  smiling  face  and  a  purse  of 
guineas,  and  I  give  you  my  promise  he  is  worthy.  In 
Bezurrel  Woods  we  teach  a  new  philosophy,  ay,  and 
we  follow  it  ourselves.  We  look  forward  with  hope, 
and  do  not  admit  despair.  We  are  agreed  that  every 
event  is  the  most  fortunate  circumstance  that  can 
happen.  We  enjoy  each  hour  fully,  and  have  but  little 
regard  for  what  may  follow  in  the  next.  When  the  sun 
is  too  powerful,  we  remember  it  lately  gave  no  heat  at 
all ;  when  the  rain  pours,  we  say  to-morrow  will  be 
fine.  And  we  receive  as  friends  all  happy  people. 
Visit  us  in  Bezurrel  Woods,  Mistress  Ruth,  and  become 
one  of  us,  whose  badge  is  happiness.  You  shall  see 
the  flowers  I  have  planted,  and  hear  the  singing 
of  birds  I  have  tamed.  Then  you  will  believe  our 
philosophy  of  the  woods  may  also  be  applied  to  the  day 
of  the  labourer,  and  the  thoughts  of  lovers.  If  your 
Harry  returns,  it  will  be  well.  If  he  does  not  return, 
it  will  still  be  well.  Whatever  happens  is  the  fortimate 
event.     And  if  it  does  not  look  to  you  fortimate 


146 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


— why,  then  forget  it,  and  come  away  to  Beasurrel 
Woods,  and  sing  with  me  beneath  the  honeysuckle." 

"  I  thsmk  you,  Master  Clabar.  I  shall  try  to  do  as 
you  say,"  said  timid  Ruth. 

"  Are  you  not  happy  ?  " 

"  Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Just  are  most  kind.  When 
I  wait  upon  my  lady  she  is  a  mother  for  gentleness. 
Yet  I  am  not  happy." 

"  Do  you  fear  that  meagre  ape  in  his  silver- 
embroidered  coat,  who  cannot  stir  abroad  unless  a 
flunkey  carries  before  him  a  gold-headed  cane  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  fear  Mr.  Grambla  now  ;  yet  I  would  not 
put  myself  in  his  pathway." 

"  Then  why  are  you  not  happy  ?  " 

"  I  am  alone,  I  have  no  name,  and  God  seems  to 
have  forgotten  me — ^and  I  cannot  find  the  way." 

"  It  is  already  marked  clearly  before  your  feet," 
cried  Cherry. 

"  The  way  to  God — ^the  way  my  mother  went,"  said 
Ruth.  "  Father  Benedict  is  kind  ;  he  seeks  to  inform 
me,  but  I  cannot  understand  him,  and  he  speaks 
English  ill.  My  lady  does  not  permit  me  to  attend 
the  church,  for  it  can  do  you  no  good,  she  says  ;  and 
'tis  true  I  have  heard  little  there  except  the  snores  of 
sleepers.  I  do  not  know  the  way  because  nobody 
will  point  it  out.  I  am  not  happy,  for  I  have  lost  my 
lover.  But  I  am  still  more  wretched  with  the  fear 
that  I  shall  lose  my  mother  and  my  God." 

Cherry  was  glad  when  Ruth  departed,  for  that  cry 
made  her  mouth  turn  traitor.  She  turned  towards 
the  woods,  but  had  gone  no  distance  when  David 
Just  rode  up,  leading  another  horse,  and  shouted, 
"  Ha,  Peter  !    Get  upon  this  horse  and  ride  with  me." 

"  You  have  sat  too  long  over  the  wine,"  cried  Cherry. 

"  I  am  not  drunk,"  said  David,  rolling  upon  the 
saddle,  his  dark  face  flushed.  "  I  rode  out  with  my 
brother,  and  this  horse  throws  him,  so  he  plays  the 
coward  and  walks  home." 


THE  COMING  OF  A  NEW  RELIGION     147 

"  Martin  is  no  coward  i  " 

"A  bookworm — a  scholar.  He  would  paint  and 
write  poetry." 

"  Was  he  hurt  ?  " 

"  No  more  than  a  cat.  He  was  glad  of  the  excuse 
to  get  back  to  the  library.  Upon  such  an  evening  to 
prefer  a  dark  room  and  a  musty  volume  I  Come, 
Peter  1  'Twill  be  dark  in  an  hour.  I  will  race  you 
to  the  far  end  of  the  sandhills,  through  Moyle,  and 
so  back  to  Bezurrel  Woods." 

"  The  horse  may  throw  me." 

"He  will,  I  warrant,  if  you  ride  him  with  hard 
hands.  A  gallant  beast— a  lady's  horse.  My  mother 
has  ridden  him.  You  could  put  up  a  kitchen-wench, 
and  he  will  go  like  a  sheep.    He  is  a  brute  with  men." 

"  Yet  you  ask  me  to  ride  him." 

"  You  have  a  woman's  hands.  You  can  speak  with 
a  woman's  voice." 

"  Martin  has  gentle  hands  and  a  soft  voice.  Why 
did  you  not  mount  the  beast  yourself,  for  you  are  the 
better  horseman  ?  " 

"  My  brother  drinks  no  wine — ^he  fears  for  his 
intellect.  My  bones  are  more  precious  than  his,  for 
I  am  the  elder  son.  Peter,  I'll  wait  for  you  no  longer. 
I  must  ride  off  the  fumes." 

"  Do  you  call  me  a  woman  ?  " 

"  God  intended  you  for  one.  You  are  meant  for 
a  maid,  but  were  given  a  man's  strength  at  the  last 
moment.  If  my  brother  should  chance  upon  a  lady 
with  your  face,  he  would  not  ask  her  fortune.  The 
horse  will  not  throw  you,  for  you  can  deceive  him. 
A  gallant  beast,  I  say  !  " 

"  I  will  show  him  what  I  am,"  cried  Cherry,  full 
of  life  and  fight  in  the  evening  air.  Then  she  flung 
herself  into  the  saddle  and  was  off,  following  David, 
who  was  already  some  way  ahead,  while  the  big  horse 
carried  her  willingly. 

By  the  lane  skirting  the  woods  they  rode,  and  so 


148 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


out  to  the  sandhills,  the  elder  son  laughing  and  shout- 
ing all  the  way,  Cherry  watching  his  shoulders  with 
a  frown,  and  setting  her  teeth  when  he  threatened  to 
go  ahead,  determined  upon  beating  him  before  the 
night  came  down.  They  galloped  on  until  the  last 
white  cottage  was  passed,  and  there  v/as  nothing  ahead 
except  sand,  stiff  grass,  and  shadows.  Then  Cherry 
spoke  to  her  steed  in  the  soft  voice  that  he  loved, 
loosened  the  rein,  confessed  her  sex  with  a  caress,  and 
the  wise  beast  put  forth  his  strength  to  such  good 
purpose  that  David  Just  was  soon  some  yards  belund. 

"  You  have  won  the  first  heat,"  he  shouted,  when 
they  had  reached  the  far  end  of  the  sandhills.  "  No 
man  of  my  weight  has  ever  beaten  me  before — ^and 
this  horse  is  the  speediest  of  the  two." 

"  Ah,  but  I  am  a  woman  !  "  mocked  Cherry. 

"  I  cannot  think  what  you  are.  You  should  be  heavier 
than  me,  for  you  are  broader,  if  I  am  taller — and  that 
horse  is  slower.  Egad,  Peter,  I  wish  the  brute  had 
thrown  you." 

"  I  am  not  your  brother — and  rival." 

"  Martin  my  rival !  Martin  the  scholar  !  Who  sits 
upon  a  tree-trunk  reading  Greek.  I  am  the  elder  son, 
and  can  beat  my  brother  on  horseback  or  on  foot." 

"  He  drinks  no  wine  and  he  knows  literature. 
Therefore  he  beats  you." 

"  Confoimd  the  two  of  ye  I  I'll  not  be  beaten. 
What  is  your  weight  ?    What  are  you  made  of  ?  " 

"  Feathers  and  foam,"  she  laughed. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  The  son  of  a  poor  man." 

"  Not  the  son  of  that  lanky  Clabar.  I'll  swear 
that.  Why  are  you  always  laughing  ?  Egad,  Peter, 
I  could  strike  you." 

"  You  would  be  sorry,"  she  threatened. 

"  If  I  struck  you  on  the  face — and  you  looked  at 
me  as  you  are  doing  now — I  should  be  sorry.  You 
and  Martin  go  too  much  together." 


t 


THE   COMING  OF  A  NEW  RELIGION     149 

"  We  are  suited  to  each  other." 

"  You  sit  with  your  two  heads  over  one  book,  like 
a  couple  of  women  over  a  sampler." 

"  Working  the  motto, '  Love  me  and  leave  me  not,'  " 
she  laughed. 

"  By  heaven,  Peter,  you  shall  not  mock  me.  Get 
off  your  horse " 

"  Hunt  me  down,"  she  cried,  riding  off,  then  waved 
her  hand  and  shouted,  "  Follow  me  !  Catch  me  I 
Ride !  Ride,  or  you  will  be  beaten  again.  Now  my 
horse  throws  the  sand  into  your  face." 

Well  ahead  she  reached  the  church-town,  a 
harvest  ground  where  the  seed  scattered  that  day 
had  already  germinated.  Night  had  almost  come,  yet 
the  parishioners  were  not  abed,  and  every  cottage 
showed  a  rushlight.  Women  and  children  were  singing 
hynms,  old  men  found  themselves  inspired  to  preach, 
young  men  were  upon  their  knees.  Shouts  of,  "  God 
ha'  mercy  upon  us  miserable  sinners,"  proceeded  from 
open  doors.    The  sleepers  were  awakened. 

Cherry  slipped  from  the  horse  and  waited  for  David, 
who  came  up  still  flushed  and  angry. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  mocked  you.  Let  us  not  quarrel 
here,"  she  sa^d. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  heaven  has  come  to  Moyle  ?  " 
he  cried. 

"  Something  in  that  name,"  she  answered.  "  Take 
the  horse — ^he  is  indeed  a  gallant  beast." 

"  Stay,  Peter  1  "  he  called,  as  she  pushed  the  rein 
into  his  hand.   "  What  b  the  meaning  of  these  cries  ?  " 

"  A  new  religion  is  being  bom  to-night,"  she  said, 
and  ran  from  him  to  the  fields  and  foot-tracks. 

It  seemed  like  a  royal  birthday,  for  birds  upon  the 
branches  of  a  monstrous  yew — once  the  contemporary 
jf  Thor  and  Woden — standing  alone  in  the  church- 
yard, were  disturbed  by  the  clanging  of  historic  bells. 
Six  lusty  parishioners  perspired  as  they  handled  the 
ropes  within  the  dim  light  of  candles,  guttered  by  the 


150 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


breeze  drifting  through  the  balisteria,  and  while  their 
arms  controlled  the  bells,  their  tongues  were  praying. 

Some  of  these  men  had  rung  out  King  James  and 
popery,  acting  as  obedient  servants  of  the  church. 
Now  they  were  ringing  in  the  age  of  liberty  and  the 
right  to  think. 

The  wandering  preacher  had  gone  upon  his  way 
by  morning,  leaving  no  name  behind;  and  Moyle 
went  out  to  work,  but  not  as  usual,  because  every 
man  was  thinking  for  himself.  Miners  prayed  aloud 
as  they  went  to  the  shaft,  fishermen  dragged  their 
boats  with  hymns  for  chanties,  and  drew  in  their 
nets  with  anthems.  Workers  in  the  fields  dropped 
their  tools  and  went  suddenly  upon  their  faiees, 
sobbing  hystericsJly.  Young  men  checked  their 
tongues  in  the  midst  of  an  oath  and  prayed  for  pardon. 
Each  evening  meetings  were  held  about  the  hallowed 
sandhill,  when  rough  miners  discovered  in  themselves 
the  gift  of  eloquence.  The  half  of  Moyle  one  hour 
sang  psalms  and  hymns,  and  the  next  sobbed  aloud 
with  spiritual  excitement.  The  woman  who  had  not 
yet  fainted  was  regarded  as  impenitent. 

Upon  Sunday  sdtemoon,  when  hovering  near  the 
most  important  meeting,  anxious  to  hear  these  heralds 
of  revolt,  Cherry  was  startled  by  a  scream,  and  pressing 
forward  discovered  a  maiden  writhing  in  convulsions 
upon  the  sand,  with  other  screaming  wenches  round 
her. 

"  Another  brand  from  the  burning  !  "  went  up  the 
cry.  "  Pray  for  her  !  See  how  the  devil  struggles  for 
her !  All  together,  brothers  and  sisters  I  Pull  her 
back  to  God." 

"These  are  not  Christians,"  said  Cherry,  as  she 
turned  from  the  scene  which  became  then  horrible 
in  her  eyes.  "  If  the  book  Father  Benedict  showed 
me  in  the  library  of  Bezurrel  contains  the  truth,  this 
is  but  Paganism  revived.  Sir  Thomas  shall  know  how 
Ruth  repays  his  kindness." 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  INGENIOUS  MR.  FRANCIS  BARCLAY 

The  first  gentkman  in  Moyle  took  to  the  new  religion 
kindly.  He  came,  in  the  first  instance  after  dark,  to 
the  house  of  Honey,  the  barber-surgeon— who  bled 
for  a  penny  and  curled  wigs  for  twopence— and  on  this 
occasion  he  was  not  preceded  by  a  servant  bearing  a 
gold-headed  cane.  Some  thought  it  was  a  crown  upon 
the  cane,  others  declared  it  was  a  skull ;  but  all  agreed 
it  was  gold.  For  Jacob  Grambla  the  attorney  was 
now  become  a  mighty  fine  gentleman. 

Upon  Honey  the  barber  had  also  descended  the 
gift  of  eloquence  ;    no  doubt  it  had  been  with  him 
always,   but   it  was  not   discovered  until  religious 
enthusiasm  began  to  bum.    The  first  chapel  was  his 
room  of  consultation  ;  the  first  prayer-meeting  beneath 
a  root  took  place  amid  razors,  wig-blocks,  and  cupping- 
glasses.    Here  came  the  curate  to  pray,  supposing  in 
blind  simplicity  that  the  new  movement  claimed  parent- 
age from  the  church  and  his  own  dull  sermons  ;  and 
was  merely  another  outbreak  against  the  old  enemy 
of  Rome.    And  perhaps  he  was  not  displeased  when 
the  bitter  tongue  of  Honey  denoimced  prodigal  bishops 
and  absent  vicars;    but  when  his  own  order  was 
attacked,  and  the  doctrines  of  the  church  were  scoffed 
at ;   when  moreover  men  and  women  sobbed  wildly, 
and  writhed  upon  the  floor  as  if  mtoxicated  ;  then  the 
curate  murmured  in  great  horror,  "The  devil  is  in 
this  place."    Carried  away  himself  by  the  screams  of 
the  congregation,  he  pointed  towards  a  bluebottle 
which  chanced  to  buzz  around  the  preacher's  head, 


152 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


and  shouted,  "  There  he  is— Beelzebub,  the  king  of 
flies  I    Zounds,  how  he  stinks  of  brimstone  I  " 

After  that  he  departed  to  write  a  sermon  against 
fanaticism,  which  he  delivered  to  cracked  walls  and 
worm-bored  benches. 

Master  Grambla,  landed  proprietor,  giver  of  feasts 
to  persons  of  distinction,  came  privately  as  became  a 
wealthy  sinner,  and  humbly  after  dark,  lest  his  coming 
should  offend  the  only  folk  whose  good  opinion  was 
worth  having.  No  man  despised  his  fellow-creatures 
more  than  the  attorney ;  yet  it  was  the  eloquence  of 
Jacob  Grambla  which  firmly  established  nonconformity 
in  Moyle.  Wobblers  came  over  when  he  preached. 
Even  Toby  Penrice,  who  in  his  dull  way  was  proud  to 
disown  religion,  wept  like  a  child  while  he  listened  to 
Master  Grambla ;  though  he  was  mindful  to  keep  his 
arm  around  a  maiden  while  he  wept.  What  was  good 
enough  for  the  master  of  Coinagehall  was  bound  to 
satisfy  his  following.  Jacob  stood  between  wig-blocks 
and  cupping-glasses,  in  a  coat  covered  with  lace  like 
the  vestment  of  a  papist  bishop,  and  preached  upon 
the  doctrine  of  regeneration  which  was  dear  to  his  soul. 

"  Brothers  and  sisters,"  said  he,  in  the  somewhat 
whining  voice  which  he  doubted  not  was  suitable  for 
heaven,  "  it  is  not  enough  that  we  begin  to  lead  a  new 
life.  We  must  first  prepare  ourselves  to  lead  this  life. 
We  are  bom  again  when  we  embrace  this  new  religion, 
and  'tis  our  duty  to  enter  this  new  state  like  innocent 
children  without  sin.  Brothers  and  sisters,  we  have  all 
sinned  in  the  past.  I  stand  before  you  to  confess  that 
I  have  sinned  in  thought  and  deed.  I  have  not  alwajrs 
spoken  truth;  I  may,  even  if  unloiowingly,  have 
defrauded  some  poorer  brother ;  I  have  profaned  the 
Sabbath  with  thought  of  business.  'Tis  true  I  have 
never  lifted  my  hand  against  a  fellow-creature,  I  have 
never — ^thank  God — ^injured  a  woman,  nor  has  any 
word  of  blasphemy  fallen  from  my  lips ;  but  I  have 
shown  impatience  at  foul  weather,  and  I  have  wrote 


THE  INGENIOUS  MR.   BARCLAY       153 

an  idle  letter  on  the  Sunday.  Since  it  is  not  possible 
for  us  to  enter  the  new  state  while  we  remain  in  sin, 
we  must  receive  baptism,  which  is  a  sacrament  any 
man  may  administer  to  his  brothers  and  sisters  who  are 
deemed  worthy  of  receiving  it.  By  this  same  baptismal 
regeneration  our  past  misdeeds  are  wiped  away,  and 
we  start  forth  into  the  new  life  like  innocent  children 
free  of  sin.  Brothers  and  sisters,  I  humbly  seek  this 
baptism,  and  I  require  Brother  Honey  to  perform  the 
rite  upon  me.  As  a  work  of  charity,  and  an  offering  of 
thanl^giving,  I  shall  bestow  one  guinea  upon  each 
man  and  woman  who  receive  the  regenerating  water 
with  myself." 

It  was  proposed  that  the  rite  should  take  place 
forthwith,  but  this  Jacob  could  by  no  means  approve 
of ;  as  nothing  short  of  complete  immersion  was  able 
to  satisfy  his  zeal,  and  he  stood  at  that  moment  in  his 
costliest  garments.  So  he  continued  to  preach,  point- 
ing out  the  necessity  of  spending  first  some  hours  in 
meditation. 

"  Let  us,"  said  he, "  to-morrow  night  descend  to  Moyle 
harbour,  and  there  cast  our  sins  from  us  to  the  sea." 

"  Let  us  go  rather  in  the  light  of  day,"  said  the 
courageous  barber-surgeon. 

"  Brother  Honey,  it  will  not  do,"  said  Jacob  sternly. 
"  We  are  not  afraid  of  any  who  may  jeer  at  us — ^nay, 
we  shall  welcome  persecution  gladly — but  let  not  our 
solemn  rite  be  interrupted  by  ribald  shouts  of  blas- 
phemy." 

"  Master  Grambla  speaks  wisely,"  cried  Toby,  who 
was  mmded  to  regain  innocence  and  receive  a  guinea. 

"  The  early  Christians  were  not  ashamed  of  the 
darkness.    Neither  shall  we  be  ashamed,"  said  Jacob. 

The  next  evening  was  favourable  to  the  fanatics,  of 
whom  all  but  two  or  three  were  pitifully  in  earnest ; 
indeed  the  majority  went  sobbing  to  the  sea.  A  sileni 
cove  was  chosen ;  here  Jacob  was  first  immersed, 
wearing  his  oldest  clothes,  and  afterwards  he  stood 


154 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


exhorting  othen  upon  the  very  spot  where  he  had 
Imelt  beside  the  dying  lady  and  had  taken  the  baby 
from  her  In-east ;  but  not  for  long,  because  he  con- 
sidered his  health  and  the  danger  of  standing  in 
saturated  garments.  Leaving  the  zealous  barber  to 
receive  all  other  candidates,  he  departed  homewards 
with  the  knowledge  that  his  past  was  blotted  out. 

As  if  in  answer  to  his  challenge  two  horsemen  rode 
into  Moyle  as  darkness  fell.  Both  were  young ;  the 
one  unshaven  and  meanly  clad  ;  the  other  very  hand- 
somely clothed  and  scented  like  a  beau.  They  reined 
in  their  horses  near  the  foot  of  Poldrifty  Downs,  and 
talked  together  for  some  time.  Then  the  shabby 
traveller  continued  westward,  while  his  companion, 
aiter  watching  horse  and  rider  out  of  sight,  advanced 
at  a  gentle  trot  towards  the  church-town. 

Caheme  the  rhinder,  who  cared  nothing  for  the 
spiritual  uprising,  crossed  his  track ;    and  the  gay 
horseman  stayed  to  question  him. 
"  How  is  this  place  named,  friend  ?  " 
"  Moyle  parish,  sir.   The  church-town  lies  ahead." 
"  Who  is  squire,  and  where  shall  I  find  his  house  ?  " 
"  Sir,  I  should  be  sorry  to  answer  you  with  a  word. 
Some  would  say  Sir  Thomas  Just  of  Bezurrel  is  the 
first  man  in  Moyle.    Others  would  say  Master  Jacob 
Grambla  of  Coinagehall." 
"  Which  opinion  are  you  mclined  towards  ?  " 
"  Sir,  if  I  was  taken  before  the  magistrates,  and  one 
should  ask  me, '  Whom  do  you  say  is  the  greater — ^the 
Queen  or  myself  ?  '  my  answer  would  be,  '  "Xou,  sir, 
are  the  greater.'    The  Queen  in  London,  sir,  would 
he  nought  to  me.    The  magistrate,  who  could  commit 
me  to  prison,  or  discharge  me  from  custody,  would  be 
by  far  the  greater.    Now,  sir,  I  have  answered  you." 
"  I  gather  that  Sir  Thomas  Just  is  headman  of  this 
parish,  but  he  withdraws  himself  from  the  inhabitants  ; 
while  Master  Grambla  takes  a  place  he  has  no  right  to 
occupy." 


THE   INGENIOUS  MR.   BARCLAY       i55 

"  Sir,  yon  may  think  so  if  you  please.  For  my  pwrt 
I  would  desire  to  remain  friendly  with  both.  Sir 
Thomas  was  bom  a  great  gentleman,  but  Master 
Grambla  is  one  of  ourselves." 

"  I  come  to  search  for  information.  Who  is  most 
learned  in  the  history  of  this  parish  ?  " 

"  Then,  sir,  you  must  go  to  Coinagehall.  If  you  go 
to  Bezurrel  you  will  have  but  a  wasted  journey  ;  for 
Sir  Thomas  admits  neither  stranger  nor  parishioner 
to  his  presence.  Whereas  Master  Grambla  is  pleased 
to  welcome  any  gentleman." 

"  I  shall  proceed  to  him  at  once,  if  you  will  pomt 
out  the  road  to  Coinagehall,"  said  the  stranger  ;  and 
the  rhinder  having  done  so  they  parted.  The  horseman 
rode  on  with  a  contented  smile,  singing  an  old  ballad 

There  was  no  real  darkness  at  that  period  of  the  year, 
therefore  Jacob  could  see  the  way  as  he  hurried  along, 
much  ashamed  of  being  recognised  in  dripping  gar- 
ments;  his  imchanging  mind  laughing  to  scorn  a 
whitewashed  conscience.  Clear  of  the  public  road, 
he  eased  his  pace  across  the  fields,  pausing  at  a  newly 
erected  fence  to  note  and  admire  the  last  improvement ; 
for  the  garden  was  being  cut  into  shape,  very  much  as 
a  child  might  have  clipped  a  pattern  out  of  folded 
paper.  Walks  of  gravel  had  been  made,  statues  and  urns 
were  being  set  up,  while  a  fountain  was  under  course 
of  building.  Every  shrub  of  box,  yew,  or  holly,  was 
clipped  into  the  fantastic  image  of  some  bird  or  beast. 

The  spirit  of  regeneration  had  settled  upon  house  as 
well  as  garden.  The  rooms  suggested  no  longer  cold- 
ness and  desolation ;  the  reign  of  mouse  and  spider 
had  been  ended ;  while  the  haunted  region  upstairs 
had  been  cleared  out  and  refurnished.  Jacob  stepped 
into  the  scone-paved  hall,  where  a  large  fireplace  now 
appeared,  fitted  with  massive  dogs  of  the  latest  type. 
Here  were  polished  tables,  straight-backed  chairs,  a 
sofa  of  tapestry,  a  pair  of  brilliant  sconces  holding  six 


. 'V 


iiaiiiiiiiMii 


156 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


wax  candles  each,  and  a  wonderful  French  clock,  its 
dial  formed  of  white  flowered  glass. 

"  Sir,"  said  a  gorgeous  lackey,  "  Mr.  Francis  Barclay 
waits  upon  you." 

"I  do  not  know  the  gentleman,"  replied  Jacob. 
"  'Tis  a  strange  time  for  a  client  to  call  on  business." 

"  He  came,  sir,  two  hours  ago  ;  and  when  I  told  him 
you  were  not  in  the  house  he  rode  away,  promising 
to  return." 

"  What  manner  of  man  ?  "  asked  Jacob. 

"  Sir,  a  gentleman  of  rank  undoubtedly." 

"  I  go  to  change  my  garments.  Lay  me  out  the 
peach-bloom  coat." 

"  I  believe,  sir,  I  hear  a  horseman." 

"  Show  the  gentleman  into  the  reception-room — ^let 
all  candles  be  lighted.  Inform  Mr.  Barclay  I  shall 
presently  be  with  him." 

Jacob  passed  up  the  well-lighted  stairway  towards 
a  room  which  twelve  months  back  he  dared  not  to 
have  entered ;  while  the  traveller-was  met  at  the  door 
with  a  ceremony  befitting  so  fine  a  face  and  figure. 
His  horse  was  led  to  the  stable,  and  he  himself  was 
ushered  into  the  saloon  ;  where  he  stood  staring  about 
in  a  somewhat  bewildered  fashion,  as  if  not  much 
accustomed  to  such  magnificence.  He  beheld  a  richly 
gilded  cornice ;  walls  hung  with  crimson  velvet ; 
tables  and  chairs  of  the  recently  introduced  and  costly 
wood  mahogany  ;  cabinets  filled  with  porcelain  ;  and 
grotesque  footstools  with  supports  of  acanthus  pattern. 

Mirrors  were  much  in  evidence,  hai^dsomely  framed 
and  bearing  sconces  which  held  stout  v\y  binders  of  the 
purest  wax.  Upon  a  walnut  sidepiece  a  massive  candel- 
abrum threw  out  six  silver  arms.  Above  the  fireplace 
were  arranged  curious  ornaments  of  Indian  manufac- 
ture, intermingled  with  vases  covered  in  gross  designs. 
The  pictures,  all  of  them  new  and  staring,  were  sugges- 
tive ;  such  as  Act  aeon  watching  Diana,  Jupiter  embrac- 
ing Leda,  Venus  in  the  arms  of  Adonis.    The  traveller 


THE  INGENIOUS  MR.   BARCLAY       157 

appeared  to  have  forgotten  the  absent  master  of  this 
indecent  splendour. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Barclay  I  My  dear  Mr.  Barclay  I  This 
b  a  very  extraordinary  and  unlooked  for  happiness,  I 
do  assure  you,  Mr.  Barclay  1  " 

With  this  welcome  Jacob  strutted  in,  looking  yet 
more  m«.agre  in  his  warm  magnificence. 

"  Sir,  I  am  much  gratified,"  replied  the  traveller. 
"  Sir,  I  have  not  seen  such  splendour  out  of  London. 
This  beautiful  harpsichord  I  This  painted  ceiling— a 
nymph  entwining  tb  stem  of  an  apple-tree  with  a 
serpent  1 " 

"  Th«  old  story,  my  dear  sir  !  Eve  and  the  enemy  of 
mankind.  Religion,  sir — ^we  must  keep  that  before  us 
in  our  houses.  This  parish  is  now  in  a  turmoil  over  a 
new  craze.  A  mad  preacher,  sir,  wandered  into  Moyle, 
to  preach  new  doctrines — ^rank  stuff  and  blasphemous. 
He  redecorated  the  table  of  the  ten  commandments, 
sir,  after  his  own  design  ;  and  now — if  you  can  believe 
me — ^the  poor  fools  are  tumbling  one  over  the  other 
in  their  eagerness  to  be  baptised  into  a  new  faith.  Sir, 
we  gentlemen  must  smile  at  such  simplicity." 

"  The  view  of  this  handsome  apartment  is  indeed 
exquisite  I  "  exclaimed  the  traveller.  "  The  lights 
reflect  from  one  mirror  to  another  in  an  endless  vista. 
What  elegant  porcelain !  What  chaste  designs  I  Sir, 
you  are  no  ordinary  country  §  ntleman." 

"I  believe  not,  sir,"  said  tae  gratified  attorney. 
"  I  am  a  man  of  substance,  I  promise  you.  You  will 
crack  a  bottle,  Mr.  Barclay  ?  Perhaps,  sir,  you  will 
honour  my  table — a  little  supper,  a  cold  fowl,  and 
half-a-dozen  of  claret  ?  " 

"  Sir,  I  am  indebted  to  you  already,"  said  the 
traveller,  bowing.  "  Let  me  explain  to  you  at  once 
the  nature  of  my  business ;  for  it  is  now  night  and  I 
am  not  yet  provided  with  a  place  of  shelter.  You  will 
allow  me  to  remark  I  am  a  gentleman  of  fortune." 
"  Say  no  more,  sir.    One  gentleman  will  tell  another 


158 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


at  a  glance.  You  will  lie  here  to-night,  Mr.  Barclay. 
I  will  hear  no  denial.  I  go  to  order  your  room  to  be 
prepared — and  the  wine,  sir.  Ah,  Mi.  Barclay  I  A 
three-bottle  man,  I  warrant  ye  1 " 

"  Sir,  your  hospitality  overwhelms  me.  My  busmess 
is  of  the  highest  importance,  else  I  would  not  have 
waited  upon  you  at  this  most  unusual  hour." 

Again  the  traveller  found  himself  alone,  but  only  for 
a  few  moments.  Two  servants  entered,  spread  a  taUe 
Mdth  cold  meats  and  glasses,  and  placed  three  flagons 
beside  each  chair.  Then  the  master  returned,  proffered 
an  elegant  snuff-box,  and  begged  the  gentleman  to 
draw  towards  the  table. 

"  Small  talk  for  meat,  sir.  Business  with  the  wine," 
said  he ;  and  forthwith  led  the  way ;  but  Jacob's 
small  talk  mainly  concerned  great  people. 

Supper  being  over,  and  the  cloth  removed  to  reveal 
a  dark  and  shining  circle  of  mahogany,  Jacob  filled  the 
long  glasses  and  toasted  the  gentleman  before  settling 
in  his  chair.  The  traveller  also  rose  and  responded  with 
a  few  compliments ;  then  leaned  across  the  mirror- 
like table,  and  came  to  matters  of  unportance. 

"  You  behold,  sir,  one  who  is  more  accustomed  to 
deeds  than  words ;  and  will  therefore  tell  a  tedious 
story  in  a  sentence.  Although  I  am  of  Engibh  parent- 
age, my  life  has  been  spent  in  the  Colony  of  Virginia, 
where  my  father  settled  in  his  youth  to  grow  the 
tobacco-plant." 

"  An  excellent  weed  !  "  cried  Jacob. 

"  You  speak  truly,"  said  Mr.  Barclay,  producing  a 
large  pocket-book,  and  flashing  across  the  attorney's 
eyes  a  silver  crest.  "  I  have  here,  sir,"  he  continued, 
"  letters  of  credit  from  wholesale  houses,  both  in  Bristol 
and  Plymouth,  which  I  shall  be  pleased  to  lay  before 
you." 

Jacob  waved  aside  these  witnesses  with  a  gesture  of 
perfect  breeding. 

"  These  notes,  sir,  represent  in  the  paper-money  of 


wM 


THE  INGENIOUS  MR.   BARCLAY       I59 

my  colony,  a  sum  of  five  thousand  pounds.  I  would 
have  you  know,  sir,  my  father  perished  more  than 
twenty  ^ars  ago,  possessed  of  a  lai^  fortune,  which 
I  have  since  succeeded  in  douUing.  But,  alas,  sir, 
what  is  wealth  to  a  man  who  has  lost  all  those  who 
are  near  and  dear  to  him,  even  though  he  may  not  have 
gaxed  upon  them  with  the  eyes  of  consciousness  ?  " 

"  Sir,  it  is  nothing,"  cried  Jacob  warmly. 

"  Nothing  whatever,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Barclay  with  a 
groan.  "  And  now  to  my  story.  Long  ago,  when  I 
was  a  child  of  eighteen  months,  my  beloved  parents 
abandoned  me  to  the  care  of  devoted  serv  ants,  and 
departed  for  England,  with  a  natural  and  pious  longing 
to  see  their  native  land  once  more.  Sir,  they  were  not 
heard  of  again.  The  ship  in  which  they  travelled  was 
wrecked,  and  it  is  supposed  all  hands  were  lost." 

"  Was  the  vessel  cast  away  upon  this  shore  ?  " 

"  It  was,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Barclay,  resting  Ins  head  a 
moment  upon  his  arm.  "  I  was  kft  with  the  overseer 
and  his  wife,  a  most  worthy  English  couple,  who 
watched  over  me  with  parental  care,  and  saw  to  it 
that  I  received  an  education  befitting  my  wealth  and 
station.  They  acted  upon  the  instructions  of  my 
parental  grandparents  ;  who  resided  in  the  county  of 
Noriolk  until  I  had  attained  the  age  of  seventeen ; 
then  both  passed  away  within  a  year  of  each  other ; 
and  I  was  left  alone,  for  my  father  was  an  only  child, 
and  of  my  mother's  relations  I  can  tell  you  nothing, 
for  I  do  not  even  know  her  maiden  name.  And  now, 
sir,  I  come  to  the  curious  part  of  my  narrative.  Little 
more  than  a  year  ago  an  old  negro  woman,  who  had 
nursed  me  as  an  infant,  was  seized  with  a  fatal  illness  ; 
and  before  passing  away  she  informed  me  that  a  chUd 
had  been  bom  to  my  parents  a  short  time  previous 
to  their  departure.  I  had  not  been  told  of  this  by  my 
kindly  guardians,  for  they  had  not  wished  to  add  to  my 
distress ;  and  they  had  instructed  the  other  servants 
to  keep  the  information  from  me." 


z6o 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"Your  worthy  grandparents,  sir— did  not  they 
mention  it  ?  "  asked  Jacob. 

"  The  old  negro  woman  told  me,  sir,  that  they  knew 
nothing ;  for  my  father  V/ished  to  gratify  his  parents 
by  appearing  before  them  on  their  birthday — ^they 
had  been  bom  upon  the  same  day — ^and  ofiering  his 
infant  daughter  as  a  present.  And  she  too,  sir — she 
too  was  cast  away." 

"  There  is  many  a  wreck  upon  this  Cornish  coast. 
Many  a  brave  life  is  thrown  away  each  storm,"  said 
Jacob  sadly. 

"  You  will  ask,  sir,  what  business  I  have  in  coming 
to  consult  you,"  resumed  Mr.  Barclay.  "  I  am  now  to 
make  this  clear  to  you.  After  the  death  of  the  old 
negro  woman  I  was  much  troubled  by  dreams  and 
visions.  An  aged  native,  who  was  said  to  possess  the 
gift  known  to  the  Scottish  as  second  sight,  assured  me 
that  my  sister  was  alive." 

"  Ah  I  "  exclaimed  Jacob. 

"  Sir,  do  I  astonish  you  ?  " 

"  Ay,  sir." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it.  After  this  warning,  which  was 
many  times  repeated,  my  mind  became  so  disturbed 
that  at  last  I  decided  to  take  a  holiday  and  come  to 
England.  I  was  desirous  of  making  the  fullest  inquir- 
ies concerning  the  fate  of  my  sister.  Besides,  sir,  I 
was  eager  to  behold  this  great  and  noble  country  of  my 
ancestors.  After  so  many  years  I  was  unable  to  dis- 
cover the  name  of  the  ill-fated  vessel ;  but  I  had  heard 
often  how  she  had  been  cast  away  upon  this  Cornish 
coast.  So  I  worked  upon  that  hint  and  starting  from 
Padstow,  after  my  safe  arrival  in  Bristol,  I  proceeded 
westerly  along  this  rugged  shore.  In  the  adjoining 
parish,  where  I  arrived  at  noon  to-day,  I  was  given 
to  imderstand  by  an  old  fisherman  that,  more  than 
twenty  years  ago,  a  lady  clasping  her  infant  daughter 
had  been  cast  up  from  a  wreck  in  this  parish  of  Moyle  ; 
and  he  believed  the  infant  had  survived.    I  hastened 


THE  INGENIOUS   MR.   BARCLAY       i6i 

forward  at  once,  and,  having  been  informed  that  you, 
sir,  were  the  gentleman  most  likely  to  give  me  informa- 
tion, I  came  with  all  speed  to  your  house.  Such  is 
my  story.  Permit  me  to  add  that,  if  my  sister  lives, 
I  shall  award  to  the  man  who  saved  her  life  a  handsome 
fortime." 

Jacob  sat  like  a  v/ooden  image,  his  face  shielded  by 
one  lean  hand,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  carpet.  Of  all 
the  problems  which  had  ever  racked  his  mind,  this 
was  a  thousand  times  the  hardest. 

"  Sir,  I  fear  your  silence  condemns  me  to  despair," 
said  Mr.  Barclay. 

Still  Jacob  could  not  find  the  words.  Schemes 
flashed  through  his  brain  and  were  rejected  ;  yet  speech 
was  demanded  of  him.  The  story  of  Ruth  was  known. 
The  bro<;her  had  only  to  question  any  elderly  parish- 
ioner to  be  told  how  the  mother  and  babe  had  been 
cast  up  in  Moyle  harbour,  how  Master  Grambla  had 
saved  the  child,  called  her  his  daughter,  and  adopted 
her  as  kitchen  slave.  But  there  was  another  story, 
which  the  parishioners  did  not  know,  and  that  weighed 
most  heavily  upon  his  mind. 

"  Sir,  I  await  your  answer." 

Slowly  Jacob  rose  to  his  feet,  cursing  his  folly  at 
having  drank  too  much.  Unable  to  face  the  visitor, 
he  gazed  upon  the  pond-like  surface  of  the  table,  and 
answered  heavily,  "  The  sorrow  of  your  story  made 
me  dumb.  Never  to  have  seen  your  parents,  sir — to 
have  been  separated  all  these  years  from  a  darling 
sister !  Sir,  I  am  not  the  man  to  listen  to  a  tragedy 
immoved.  To-morrow  we  shall  talk  more  soberly. 
To-night — ^what  shall  I  say  but  this  ? — your  sister 
lives  and  is  well.  These  hands  drew  your  mother  from 
the  sea.  These  arms  carried  her  infant  daughter  to 
my  house.  Sir,  she  has  lived  with  me  all  these  years, 
and — to  my  shame — I  allowed  the  child  to  perform 
slight  household  duties." 

"  My  sister  I   My  Maud  !   So  I  have  found  thee  at 
u 


X63 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


length  !  "  cried  Mr.  Barclay.  "  Ah,  sir  1  sufier  me  to 
kbs  the  hand  which  saved  my  sbter." 

"  I  can  say  no  more — I  am  much  moved.  Let  us  rest 
now,  and  talk  to-morrow,"  Jacob  mumbled. 

"  Where  is  my  sister  ?  " 

"  In  this  parish.  You  shall  see  her  in  the  morning. 
She  is,  I  suppose,  a  young  lady  of  fortune  ?  " 

"  I  shall  at  once  present  her  with  a  fortune  of  twenty 
thousand  pounds.  And  you,  sir — ^how  shall  I  reward 
a  wealthy  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Sir,  let  me  light  you  to  your  chamber,"  Jacob 
whispered. 

Mr.  Barclay  slept  soundly  in  the  luxurious  guest- 
chamber  ;  but  the  master  never  closed  his  eyes  that 
night. 


CHAPTER   III 


JACOB  PLAYS  A  GAME  OF  FIND  THE  LADY 

The  attorney  was  out  of  his  room  before  the  cock- 
crow. Mr.  Barclay  descended  the  stairs  not  long 
after  sunrise,  to  inform  the  butler  an  early  walk  was 
necessary  for  his  health,  and  it  was  aever  his  custom 
to  take  breakfast  until  the  clock  had  gone  ten.  This 
fine  gentleman  then  passed  out  upon  a  terrace  in 
making,  and  interrogated  a  gardener  who  was  at  work 
already : 

"  Whose  are  those  woods  I  see  yonder  ?  " 

"  They  belong,  sir,  to  the  lord  of  Bezurrel,"  came 
the  answer. 

"  Are  they  inhabited  ?  " 

"  By  a  gamekeeper  and  water-bailiff,  sir  ;  and  by 
Master  John  Clabar  and  his  son." 

"  '"'ho  are  these  Clabars  ?  " 

"  Ti.-y  owned  Coinagehall,  sir,  before  Master 
Grambla  bought  it  of  them.  John  Clabar  was  once 
a  gentleman,  sir,  and  'tis  said  his  son  is  likely  to 
become  one." 

"  What  manner  of  men  are  they  ?  " 

"  John  is  silent  and  brooding.  Young  Peter  is  like 
nobody  else  in  the  world,  for  he  has  the  face  of  a 
woman  and  the  strength  of  a  man.  He  is  included 
among  our  Cornish  wonders,  of  which  we  have  many. 
He  h^  now  reached  his  twenty-second  year,  and 
uses  his  hands  as  weU  as  any  man ;  yet  he  grows  no 
beard.  He  is  a  scholar,  and  'tis  said  there  is  some 
magic  in  his  nature." 

163 


i64 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


\ 


"  I  would  see  this  prodigy.    Where  is  the  house  ?  " 

"  Enter  Bezurrel  Woods,  sir,  and  follow  the  stream 
until  you  find  it." 

Leaving  the  intelligent  gardener,  Mr.  Barclay 
walked  on,  smiling  at  the  parterres  and  verdant 
images;  crossed  the  fields;  and  descended  to  the 
wockIs,  which  appeared  to  recede  as  he  advanced 
owing  to  the  nature  of  the  ground.  He  smiled  again 
when  his  feet  trod  the  moss,  and  his  head  was  covered 
by  a  bower  of  roses.  Indeed,  the  beauty  of  these 
woods  was  so  much  to  his  taste  that  he  threw  back 
his  head  and  sought  to  imitate  the  music  of  the  birds  ; 
but  his  song  reached  an  end  when  he  came  to  a  clear- 
ing ;  where  he  saw  a  cottage  with  a  fenced-in  garden 
and,  leaning  over  the  rustic  gate,  a  magnificent  youth 
bareheaded,  with  brown  hands  and  white  throat  and 
the  sunshine  pouring  on  his  golden  curls. 

"  Welcome  to  Halcyon,"  said  Cherry.i 

"Yoimg  gentleman,  I  greet  you,"  replied  the 
traveller.  "  Welcome  is  a  good  word,  to  which  I  am 
but  little  accustomed.  The  name  of  this  place  I  have 
not  heard  before." 

"  You  are  welcome,"  said  Cherry.  "  For  you  came 
along  the  right  road." 

"  I  saw  no  other  way." 

"  One  is  closed,  and  yet  most  people  find  it.  There 
is  a  sorrowful  pathway,  and  a  happy  pathway,  to 
every  home.  I  heard  you  singing  in  the  wood,  there- 
fore I  knew  you  were  commg  the  right  way.  Because 
you  are  happy  I  give  you  welcome.  Because  you  are 
free  from  sorrow  you  may  have  the  liberty  of  my  home 
which  we  call  Halcyon  ;  for  that  word  means  happi- 
ness." 

"  Are  you  not  Mr.  Peter  Clabar  ?  " 

"  I  see  you  have  heard  of  me,  happy  man.  Nay, 
do  not  protest  I  There  are  a  great  number  of  sour- 
faces  who  would  approach  by  the  way  that  is  closed. 
They  would  groan  horribly  among  these  trees  and 


A  GAME   OF   FIND  THE   LADY        165 

flowers.    Should  they  gain  heaven,  they  will  groan 
there  too,  I  warrant." 

"  This  is  a  fair  garden  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Barclay. 
"I  knew  not  so  many  different  kinds  of  flower 
existed." 

"  Snow-flowers  and  storm-flowers  are  past.  These 
you  behold  are  cuckoo-flowers." 

"  Have  they  no  other  name  ?  " 

"  Plenty  to  wise  men,  but  no  other  to  my  ignorance. 
Here  is  a  cuckoo-flower,  and  here  another.  They  blow 
when  the  cuckoo  cries,  and  that  is  all  I  know  about 
them.  Snow-flowers  come  and  go  in  winter.  Storm- 
flowers  visit  us  in  March." 

"  By  my  soul,  a  good  place  in  the  summer-time  I  " 
cried  the  traveller. 

"  A  good  place  in  every  season.  There  are  pleasures 
of  winter  also,  happy  man.  When  the  rain  beats  down, 
and  the  wind  is  hunting,  we  close  the  shutters,  sit 
by  the  fire  of  logs — ^for  we  have  permission  to  make  use 
of  fallen  timber— and  read  old  books.  What  greater 
comfort  is  there  than  a  well-warmed  room  ?  What 
happier  thing  than  an  ancient  book?  When  frost 
clears  the  air,  we  look  out  upon  the  stars  and  wonder  ; 
and  to  wonder  is  another  form  of  happiness.  When 
snow  lies  upon  the  ground,  and  crystals  shine  upon 
the  trees,  we  admire  ;  and  admiration  is  another  form 
of  happiness.  Every  season  is  the  happiest  in  Halcyon. 
Each  day  b  better  than  the  last." 

"  Young  gentleman,  you  seem  to  me  to  have  no  ill- 
opinion  of  yourself." 

"  Good  opinion  is  not  always  pride,"  said  Cherry. 
"  I  should  be  wrong  to  think  ill  of  myself,  or  of  my 
neighbours ;  for  nothing  that  is  ill  can  be  a  form  of 
happiness.  And  now,  sir,  will  you  not  tell  me  what 
brings  you  to  Bezurrel  Woods ;  for  I  believe  you  are  a 
stranger  in  this  country  ?  " 

"  I  came  yesterday  in  search  of  information  con- 
cerning my  sister,  who  was  cast  upon  this  shore  when 


t66 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


an  infant  many  years  ago.    I  was  directed  to  Jacob 
Grambla ;  and  I  lay  last  night  at  Coinagehall." 

"  This  is  news  indeed  !  "  said  Cherry.  "  May  I 
implore  you,  sir,  not  to  trust  the  lawyer  ?  " 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  warning,"  said  Mr.  Barclay. 
"  I  have  some  knowledge  of  the  human  countenance  ; 
and  by  that  alone  I  do  not  trust  the  lawyer." 

"  Ruth  is  then  your  sister — Chappy  maid  I  " 

"  Ruth  is  she  called  ?  " 

"  I  see  the  serpent  has  deceived  you." 

"  He  has  told  me  nothing,  save  that  my  sister  lives 
and  is  well,  and  dwells  within  this  parish." 

"  He  means  mischief  to  the  maid — ^whom  I  know 
well  he  hates.  You  will  find  whichever  way  you  move, 
he  has  a  net  spread  for  you.  Ruth  serves  at  Bezurrel 
Castle  as  maid  to  my  Lady  Just." 

"  Young  gentleman,  I  thank  you,"  cried  the  traveller. 

"  I  should  rather  thank  you  for  walking  through  the 
wood  with  a  song  of  the  morning  and  a  shining  lover's 
face." 

"  I  chank  you  for  the  information." 

"  'Vhich  you  came  here  to  find." 

"  I  descend  from  a  house  of  lies  to  a  cottage  of 
truth,"  said  happy  Mr.  Barclay. 

"  Nay,  truth  dwells  in  a  palace.  Come,  sir,  will  you 
pluck  cuckoo-flowers  of  various  colours  and  make  a 
posy  ?  I  go  presently  to  Bezurrel  chapel  for  the  Mass, 
and  will  carry  the  posy  to  your  sister." 

"  Is  she  a  papist  ?  " 

"  She  steers  towards  the  very  opposite  pole  of 
the  heavens.  Moyle  is  gone  out  of  its  senses  by  the 
coming  of  a  preacher ;  its  folk  are  fallen  into  the 
whirlpool  of  a  new  religion  which  has  already  made 
them  so  giddy  they  cannot  stand  upright ;  and  Mistress 
Ruth  has  fallen  into  the  midst  of  it  herself.  I  believe 
you  are  come  in  good  time,  for  Sir  Thomas  and  my 
lady  abhor  these  nonconformists,  and  your  sister 
grows  unpopular  at  Bezurrel." 


A  GAME  OF  nND  THE  LADY       167 

"  It  is  well  then  that  I  have  come  to  remove  her, 
more  especially  as  I  myself  favour  the  nonconformists. 
But  if  you  carry  a  posy  to  my  sbter,  how  shall  she 
know  who  sends  it  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  language  of  flowers.  Every  maid  can 
hear  them  speaking,  '  I  have  a  message  for  you,'  '  I 
love  you,' '  Will  you  come  with  me  ? '" 
"  You  speak  like  a  maid  !  " 
"  I  am  the  laughing  interpreter  of  the  silent  flowers. 
Every  maid,  I  assure  you,  can  read  blossoms.  But  for 
greater  security  you  may  add  eloquence  to  their 
fragrance  by  hiding  a  letter  within  the  posy." 

"Well  thought  of  indeed  1 "  cried  Mr.  Barclay. 
"Yet  can  I  be  certain  the  letter  will  reach  my 
sister  ? " 

"  When  you  give  it  to  me,  you  may  reckon  it  is 
already  in  Ruth's  hands.  Come,  sir  !  will  you  enter 
our  cottage  and  write  to  your  sister  ?  " 

"  Young  gentleman,"  said  the  traveller,  with  great 
earnestness,  "  my  sister  and  I  shall  ever  afterwards 
regard  you  as  our  kindliest  friend." 

"  I  hope,  sir,  you  are  a  gentleman  of  fortune  ?  "  said 
Cherry,  as  she  opened  the  gate  for  him. 

"  My  possessions  are  vast  indeed.  Many  a  Nabob  of 
the  Indies  might  feel  envious  of  my  wealth.  I  am 
yotmg,  I  am  strong,  I  have  fine  health,"  replied  Mr. 
Barclay. 

Later  he  apologised  for  the  unconscionable  time  he 
sat  a-writing,  although  Cherry  could  not  wonder  at  it ; 
for  a  knowledge  of  spelling  was  not  then  regarded  as  an 
elegant  accomplishment,  and  the  greatest  gentry  of  the 
land  were  awkward  with  the  pen.  But  she  was  forced 
to  conclude  his  labours  by  the  warning,  "  When  the 
sun  stands  over  that  oak,  'tis  eight  by  the  clock.  You 
see  he  is  almost  there." 

Soon  they  set  out  together  through  the  wood,  and 
came  presently  into  a  lane  opposite  a  Cornish  stile, 
where  it  was  necessary  to  part. 


z68 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  Your  way  lies  along  this  lane,"  said  she.  "  I 
wish  you  good-fortune  and  many  halcyon-days." 

"  I  propose  to  return  with  my  sister  to  the  Palace 
of  Truth,"  said  Mr.  Barclay.  "  If  I  am  prevented  from 
doing  so.  and  should  we  meet  no  more,  the  memory 
of  this  kindness  shall  ever  remain  as  a  portion  of  my 
life.  I  have  here  two  rings.  One  I  shall  present  to 
my  dear  sister.    The  other  I  beg  of  your  acceptance." 

"  It  is  a  woman's  ring  I  "  cried  Cherry. 

"  I  would  have  you  offer  it  to  the  maiden  you  like 
best." 

"  I  will  do  so — and  I  thank  you,"  she  said  ;  and 
slipping  the  ring  upon  her  little  linger,  and  carrying 
the  bright  posy  which  contained  the  hidden  letter, 
she  passed  into  Bezurrel  Park.  While  Mr.  Barclay 
loitered  in  the  lane,  and  wandered  by  slow  stages  to 
breakfast,  Coinagehall,  and  Jacob  Grambla. 

The  attorney  called  the  servants  himself,  and,  having 
entered  the  kitchen  when  they  were  assembled,  ordered 
two  maids  to  wait  upon  him  in  the  second  saloon ; 
which  was  the  room  where  he  had  slept  before  the 
coming  of  Red  Cap ;  and  was  now  used  as  a  place  of 
reception  for  such  unimportant  parishioners  as  Master 
Toby,  who  could  not  be  allowed  to  tread  the  carpet 
of  the  first  saloon.  This  was  simply  furnished — to  suit 
the  tastes  of  the  meaner  kind  of  folk  who  entered  it — 
with  plain  chairs  and  tables,  groups  of  waxen  fruit, 
stuffed  birds  and  beasts,  while  all  the  pictures  were  re- 
ligious ;  since  only  great  folk  could  understand  high 
art  in  the  form  of  suggestive  paintings  and  indecent 
porcelain.  Here  Jacob  questioned  the  two  maidens  ; 
and  presently  dismissed  the  one,  but  retained  the  other 
a  great  while  ;  and  after  that  he  waited  for  his  guest. 
Who  came  strolling  through  the  fantastic  garden 
as  one  with  an  imblemished  title  to  the  place  ;  handed 
hat  and  cane  to  the  butler  with  an  air  of  master ;  then 
wandered  into  the  dining-room  like  a  lord.  Jacob 
sprang  towards  him  uttering  fulsome  words,  led  nxm 


m. 


MiBHHH 


A   GAME   OF   HND  THE  LADY        169 

to  a  chair,  served  him  with  meat  and  ale ;  but  could 
not  help  noticing  that  the  handsome  gentleman  was 
somewhat  cold. 

"  I  fear,  sir,  the  meanness  of  my  house,  and  the 
poverty  of  my  cwiversation,  do  not  please  you,"  he 
said  humbly.  "  Yet  consider,  sir,  we  country  gentle- 
men are  little  accustomed  to  entertain  a  prince  of  com- 
merce." 

"To  be  plain  with  you,  sir,  I  did  not  like  your 
manner  when  you  left  me.  You  maintain  silence,  you 
hold  me  in  suspense  all  night,  you  make  me  feel  all  is 
not  well  with  my  dear  sister,"  said  Mr.  Barclay. 

"  Sir,  I  was  agitated,"  replied  Jacob.  "  I  do  not 
know  whether  you  have  spoke  to  anyone  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"  I  wandered  into  the  woods  and  came  by  chance 
upon  a  strapping  youth  whose  form  reminded  me  of 
certain  statues  I  have  seen." 

"  A  dangerous  fellow,  I  assure  you.  A  lying  fellow. 
I  trust  you  did  not  disclose  yourself  to  him  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  tell  him  my  name." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it.  That  is  a  fellow  who  would  make 
much  mischief.    I  hope,  sir,  the  ale  is  to  your  taste  ?  " 

"  I  have  seldom  tasted  better." 

"  I  had  a  hand  in  the  brewing  of  it.  A  master  should 
not  consider  any  detail  too  small  for  his  attention.  I 
could  tell  you  the  iiumber  of  coverings  upon  each  bed, 
and  the  precise  amount  of  fuel  consumed  each  day 
upon  these  premises." 

"  Sir,  I  must  again  be  plain  with  you,"  cried  Mr. 
Barclay.    "  I  consider  you  trifle  with  me." 

There  came  a  fine  bustling  outside  ;  then  a  post- 
chaise  drew  up  at  the  porch.  The  gentleman  looked 
out  and  saw  a  groom  leading  his  horse  across  the  gravel. 

"  You  will  perceive,"  said  Jacob  heavilj',  "  that  I 
am  unable  to  shake  off  the  agitation  which  troubled 
me  last  night.  Your  sister,  sir— I  address  myself 
boldly  to  the  facts." 


170 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  Why  is  my  hone  kd  out  ?  What  means  this  pott- 
chaise  ? " 

"  The  horse,  sir,  is  brought  in  readiness  for  a  journey 
which  we  must  take  this  morning,  fhe  chaise  contains 
your  sister." 

Mr.  Barclay  rose  and  would  have  made  for  the  door, 
but  Jacob  placed  a  deferential  hand  upon  hb  arm  and 
begged  him  to  remain. 

"  I  desire  you  not  to  show  yourself  till  you  have 
heard  me." 

"  Why  does  she  not  run  to  me — ^hei  brother  ?  " 

"She  has  not  even  heard  oi  your  ^\.stence,"  de- 
clared Jacob.  "  Sir.  I  desire  you  to  be  calm,  and 
listen.  You  feaied  by  my  manner  that  all  is  not  well 
.vith  your  sister." 

"  Do  not  tell  me,"  cried  Mr.  Barclay,  "  she  has  con- 
tnxted  a  marriage  with  some  clown." 

"  Nay,  sir  !  No  better  and  no  worse  as  things  go  in 
tlic  world.  I  have  told  you  hov.'  I  rescued  the  poor 
infai  t  from  the  sea.  I  have  told  you  how  I  brought  her 
to  thic  house  and  permitted  her  to  take  a  part  in  house- 
hold dut.es.  Sir,  do  not  blame  me  if  I  gave  her  no 
education,  and  used  her  in  a  fashion  not  suited  to  her 
birth  ;  for  I  was  not  to  know  she  was  a  lady  bom,  nor 
could  I  tell  she  would  be  claimed.  Besides,  sir.  had 
she  been  my  daughter,  I  could  have  done  but  little  for 
the  child,  since  ease  of  fortune  did  not  reach  me  till 
last  year.  So  your  sister  grew  up  in  my  house,  an 
ordinary  country  wench ;  somewhat  rough,  a  trifle 
careless — and  unthinking." 

"  Well,  sir  I  "  said  Mr.  Barclay  sternly,  when  the 
lawyer  hesitated. 

"  Sir,  there  is  many  a  country  wench  somewhat 
loose  in  principle.    I  say  no  more." 

"  I  begin  to  understand  you.  I  pray  you  tell  me  all." 
said  Mr.  Barclay,  still  more  coldly. 

"  Last  year  I  was  forced  by  her  conduct — to  which 
I  will  not  give  the  name  of  wantonness — ^to  find  her 


A  GAME  OF  FIND  THE  LADY        171 

a  lodging  elsewhere.  I  assure  you.  sir.  she  has  been 
well  looked  after.  In  pity,  and  not  I  swear  without 
devotion.  I  offered  to  take  the  shame  upon  myself — 
you  wUl  not  mock  me  because  I  am  plain  in  face  and 
mean  in  figure.  She  scorned  me.  '  Better  hunger  as 
a  partner  than  you  for  a  husband,'  she  cried  at  me.  I 
cast  no  blame  against  her.  Yet  I  had  saved  that 
life ! " 

"  Is  there  no  more  to  add  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Barclay. 

"  This  Gvily  :  I  mention  a  little  mound  in  the  church- 
5rard  to  ease  your  mind.  The  whole  of  Moyle  knows 
this  sad  story.  Scandal,  sir,  travels  post  free.  I  would 
desire  you  to  leave  this  place  immediately.  Your 
business  here  must  otherwise  be  known,  and  your 
honoured  name  will  become  dragged  in  the  mire.  The 
carriage  waits.  Lot  us  ride  to  the  next  town  ;  and 
there — ^in  the  peaceful  seclusion  of  some  inn — I  shall 
resign  my  charge ;  or  shall  remain — if  that  be  your 
pleasure — ^to  advise  you  further  concerning  such  settle- 
ments you  may  desire  to  make  upon  your  sister." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  care,"  said  Mr.  Barclay. 
"  The  honour  of  my  name  I  value  highly  ;  yet  I  would 
have  you  bear  in  mind  that  mud  thrown  in  Moyle  can 
never  reach  Virginia." 

"  Be  not  too  sure."  said  Jacob  earnestly.  "  Our 
young  men  are  emigrating  to  that  colony.  'Twould 
be  a  sad  day  if  one  came  to  your  plantations  and 
recognised  Miss  Barclay.  Sir.  the  truth  would  be  out 
before  you  could  stop  his  mouth.  Take  my  advice, 
and  I  promise  you  to  keep  this  matter  secret.  After 
to-day  the  people  of  Moyle  will  see  Miss  Maud  no  more. 
They  shall  never  be  told  her  rightful  name.  Sir,  I 
am  greatly  honoured  by  your  company,  yet  what  is 
there  to  detain  you  now  in  my  poor  house  ?  " 

Mr.  Barclay  moved  from  his  chair  with  some  un- 
easiness, saying  as  he  drew  out  his  pocket-book,  "  Your 
eloquence  convinces  me.  Yet,  sir,  I  shall  not  trouble 
you  to  accompany  us.   I  have  thought  of  a  better  plan. 


mn 


MICROCOPY   RESOIUTION   TfST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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US 

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^  TIPPLED  IM^GE    U^ 

^^^K  1653  Eost   Main  Street 

,^^S\S  ?°'-r'?"*'''   ''•"  "'ork        U609       USA 

.^Sr^S  (716)  482  -  0300  -  Phone 

^S'.^^  (716)  2M  -  5989  -  Fa» 


172  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

There  are  matters  I  am  anxious  to  discuss  with  you ; 
for  now  that  my  sister  has  been  restored  I  would  make 
some  provision  for  her  future.  Life  is  uncertam—l 
mav  be  shot  by  some  viUainous  highwayman  upon  the 
road  to  Devonshire.  I  shaU  therefore  requure  you  to 
prepare  my  wiU.  Then,  sir,  I  shaU  be  much  offended 
if  you  refuse  to  accept  a  sum  of  money  of  me.  i 
would  have  you  extend  this  noble  mansion  by  buUdmg 
a  wing  at  my  expense.  These  various  discussior^  wiU 
take  time.  I  propose  therefore  to  depart  with  my 
sister  to  the  next  town,  and,  after  lodging  her  m  some 
comfortable  inn,  to  return  and  accept  your  hospitality 

some  few  days  longer."  ,    .,  t      i.      i*     ^ 

"  Sir,  you  gratify  me  exceedingly,  Jacob  muttered. 
"  Yet  I  could  protect  the  honour  of  your  name  more 
surely  by  travelling  with  you." 

"  I  shall  not  mention  the  name  of  my  sister  either  to 
man  or  woman.  One  other  matter,  sir  said  Mr. 
Barclay,  passing  some  notes  across  the  table.  1  dis- 
cover I  ^  almost  exhausted  of  my  English  money. 
Be  good  enough  to  present  me  with  ten  guineas,  that 
I  may  settle  with  the  post-boys  and  landlord  of  the  inn ; 
and  place  this  paper  of  my  country  in  your  strong-box 

against  my  coming."  ,  »      -j  x \> 

"  Will  you  not  need  a  larger  sum  ?  said  Jacob, 
collecting  the  notes  with  eager  fingers  ;  then  proceed- 
ing to  unbutton  his  pocket, "  I  have  here  fifteen  ^meas 
and  some  sUver.    Sir,  these  notes  are  pnnted  very 

ill " 

*"  In  my  colony,  sir,  the  arts  are  but  little  studied ; 
but  we  have  the  money  and  the  skill  will  come.  I  beg 
you  pass  no  hasty  opinion  upon  these  notes,  for  we 
young  Americans  are  somewhat  impatient  of  cnticism. 
This  gold  will  be  sufficient.  I  thank  you.  And  now, 
sir.  present  me  to  my  sister." 

"  Will  you  not  reveal  yourself  to  her  when  you  reach 
the  country  beyond  Moyle  ?  Consider,  sir  !  My  ser- 
vants may  put  one  a-'d  one  together." 


A  GAME  OF   FIND  THE   LADY        173 

"  She  might  not  believe  me.  No,  sir !  Inform  her, 
and  send  her  in." 

"  Very  good,  sir.  I  will  order  the  servants  into  the 
back  premises.  I  may  expect  you,  sir,  this  evening  at 
dinner-time  ?  " 

"  You  may  indeed  expect  me,"  replied  Mr.  Barclay. 

Jacob  hurried  from  the  room,  satisfied  the  plot 
was  working,  and  not  sorry  in  his  heart  to  be  spared 
a  journey,  for  travelling  in  a  post-chaise  made  him 
sick. 

Mr.  Barclay  stood  facing  the  window,  until  the  door 
was  pushed  open  timidly.  He  turned  to  beheld  a 
somewhat  impudent  coimtry  wench,  who  blushed  and 
simpered,  as  she  transferred  her  gaze  from  floor  to 
ceiling  and  from  wall  to  wall. 

"  Well,  my  dear  I  What  name  do  they  call  you  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Barclay ;  then  remembering  that  Jacob 
would  be  listening,  he  cried,  "  Do  I  indeed  behold  my 
long-lost  sister  ?  " 

"They  call  me  Ruth,  an  it  please  you,  sir,"  the 
damsel  stammered. 

"  It  does  not  please  me.  Your  name  is  Maud  ;  and 
I  am  your  brother,  Mr.  Francis  Barclay." 

"  Master  Grambla  says  you  be  my  brother.  Oh 
lor',  sir,  don't  it  seem  funny  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  young  gentlewoman,  Maud  ;  but  I  fear 
you  have  much  to  leam." 

"  Will  ye  give  me  pretty  gowns,  sir  ?  And  a  carriage 
to  drive  in,  sir  ?  And  a  wench  to  wait  upon  me,  sir  ?  " 
demanded  the  pert  damsel. 

"  We  will  talk  of  these  things  at  some  other  time," 
said  Mr.  Barclay  with  a  frown.  "  Now,  Maud,  will 
you  come  with  me  ?  " 

"  I'll  come  with  you,  sir,  sure  enough.  I  ain't  so 
fond  of  Moyle  I  craves  to  bide.  Lor',  sir,  I  be  a  lucky 
maid,  I  reckon." 

Mr.  Barclay  advanced,  raised  her  podgy  harid,  and 
pressed  his  lips  upon  it ;  an  action  which  disconcerted 


174 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


the  damsel,  who  had  looked  for  a  salutation  far  more 
ardent. 

"  Ain't  you  going  to  kiss  me  on  the  chops  ?  "  she 
muttered  in  her  coimtry  dialect. 

Mr.  Barclay  winced  fDr  answer.  They  walked  out 
of  the  room,  across  the  hall,  and  towards  the  waiting 
chaise  ;  the  wench  signalling  her  transformation  into 
a  fine  lady  by  turning  up  her  nose  at  the  post-bojrs  ; 
her  escort  glancing  at  his  watch.  Of  Jacob  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen. 

"  What  is  the  name  of  that  hill  yonder  ?  "  asked  the 
gentleman,  as  he  mounted  his  horse. 

"  Us  calls  it  Great  Gwentor,  master,"  replied  the 
groom. 

They  went  off,  but  when  clear  of  Coinagehall,  the 
rider  said  to  the  post-boy  nearest  him,  "  Drive  to  the 
foot  of  Great  Gwentor,  for  I  have  business  in  that 
neighbourhood." 


CHAPTER  IV 


RUTH  BEGINS  TO  TRAVEL 

Mass  being  said,  Sir  Thomas  and  his  lady  retired  into 
the  library,  which  could  be  entered  from  the  garden  : 
a  few  minutes  later  Ruth  was  summoned  to  attend 
them.  She  came  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart ;  for  she 
feared,  rather  than  loved,  the  lord  of  Bezurrel,  in  spite 
of  his  much  kindness. 

"  Ruth,"  said  he,  "  I  saw  you  in  the  avenue  holding 
a  nosegay  of  wild  flowers.    Who  is  your  lover  ?  " 

"  Peter  Clabar,  sir "  she  began  in  a  weak  voice. 

"  What,  Ruth — shy  maid  !  Have  you  been  making 
eyes  at  our  young  sun-god  ?  "  cried  my  lady. 

"  I  know  the  flowers  came  from  Olabar's  garden," 
said  Sir  Thomas.  "  A  posy,  child,  may  convey  a  great 
deal  from  one  hand  to  another.  The  single  flower 
carries  an  iimocent  message  ;  but  the  nosegay  b  often 
guilty  of  conspiracy.  What  is  that  you  try  to  conceal 
in  the  folds  of  your  gown  ?  " 

"  If  you  please   5ir,  'tis  a  letter," 

"  From  young  Apollo  1  Oh,  fie,  Ruthie  !  "  laughed 
her  ladyship. 

"  Let  us  not  tease  the  maid,"  said  her  husband  less 
sternly.  "  Be  seated,  Ruth,  and  tell  us  why  young 
Peter  brings  you  love-letters." 

"  Sir,  I  do  not  know." 

"  Have  you  any  feeling  of  affection  for  him  ?  " 

"  Nothing  more  than  the  kindness  of  friendship, 
sir." 

"  Yet  you  have  a  lover.  May  not  this  letter  be  from 
him?" 

m 


176 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  Master  Peter,  sir,  when  he  came  to  Mass,  sent  for 
me,"  said  Ruth.  "  I  found  him  waiting  by  the  door 
of  the  chapel,  holding  a  posy  which  he  pushed  into  my 
hand,  and  told  me  to  take  it  to  my  bedroom.  '  There 
b  a  mess  ge,'  he  whispers.  '  'Tis  from  your  brother.' 
But,  sir,  I  cannot  read." 

"  You  have  no  brother,"  said  Sir  Thomas  sharply. 

"  Give  me  the  letter,"  cried  Lady  Just.  "  Come, 
Ruth,  sit  close  to  me,  whUe  I  read  it  in  your  ear.  This 
is  an  affair  between  women.  Sir  Thomas.  You  have  no 
part  in  it." 

"  Nevertheless  I  shall  remain  to  offer  an  opinion." 

"  A  crest !  "  exclaimed  her  ladyship,  as  she  looked 
at  the  seal.  "  Ruth,  you  become  a  maid  of 
mystery." 

"  An  owl,"  said  the  baronet,  in  the  solemn  manner 
of  that  bu-d.  "  'Tis  the  crest,  I  believe,  of  a  family  in 
Devonshire.  But  this  paper  I  myself  supplied  to 
Peter.  Therefore  the  letter  was  written  in  Halcyon 
cottage." 

Lady  Just  broke  the  seal,  glanced  through  the  con- 
tents, frowning  a  little,  then  laughed  aloud. 

"  Brother  or  lover,  he  is  an  ill  scholar,"  she  cried. 
"  He  signs  no  name  and  gives  no  explanation.  Ruth, 
listen !  " 

"  Read  aloud,  Manuela,"  her  husband  ordered. 

So  my  lady  read  aloud  : 

"  My  dere  little  angel  I  am  your  brother  as  you  shal 
imderstand  when  you  meet  me  in  the  copse  at  12  by  the 
clock  and  noon  by  the  sun  and  I  am  come  for  you  at 
last  and  I  shal  be  in  the  copse  which  is  at  the  h  -)ttom 
of  the  fields  of  Coinagehall  with  a  Horse  to  take  you  I 
got  to  Mcyle  about  evening  and  I  had  supper  with 
Grambler  but  I  could  not  eat  now  I  was  so  close  to  you 
and  so  got  to  Bed  near  midnight  I  lay  at  Coinageliall 
and  I  prayed  for  you  my  derest  love  and  kissed  your 
Derest  Hare  and  laye  down  and  (  rcmpt  of  you  ten  thou- 
sand times  kissing  you  and  t   ling  you  how  much  I 


RUTH   BEGINS  TO  TRAVEL 


177 


loved  and  adored  you  till  you  seemed  pleased  but  alas 
when  I  woke  I  found  it  all  dillusion  no  body  but  myself 
I  rose  by  time  at  six  and  went  to  the  woods  there  I 
found  my  Friend  Peter  and  stayed  with  him  and  when 
I  finish  this  Letter  to  you  my  dere  love  I  go  to  brekfust 
at  10  clock  always  if  nothing  hinders  me  I  s\A\  be  in 
the  copse  by  Noon  o  my  love  mad  and  happy  beyond 
m3rself  to  tell  you  how  I  love  you  I  hope  you  are  well  I 
need  not  tell  you  I  have  nothing  in  my  T  !ioughts  I  long 
for  your  Dereself  and  hope  for  the  time  to  come  dere 
Little  Friend  does  angel  of  my  Hart  take  care  of  her 
Dereself  for  the  sake  of  your  faithful  Servant  who  lives 
but  to  adore  you  I  hope  my  dere  nay  I  will  dare  to  say 
you  never  will  have  reason  and  you  w'U  not  regret  when 
the  Time  comes  God  bless  you  most  Derest  Little 
Creature  living 

now  oft  bad changed  his  sly  disguise 

unmarked  by  all  save  Luwly  Ruthies  eyes 
now  he  finds  means  alone  to  meet  his  Dame 
and  at  her  feet  to  breathe  his  amrus  Flame 

Now  God  bless  you  till  12  clock  I  have  your  Hart  and 
it  lies  warm  in  my  Breast  I  hope  mme  will  feel  easy 
Joy  of  my  Life  my  Friend  Peter  says  this  will  do." 

My  lady  dropped  her  hands  and  looked  at  Ruth, 
whose  cheeks  were  red  as  roses,  saying,  "  The  poor 
gentleman  is  no  scholar  with  the  pen,  for  he  writes  his 
romance  in  one  imbroken  sentence,  and  has  your 
true  lover's  trick  of  careless  spelling.  Now,  child,  can 
you  sign  his  name  ?  " 

"  The  name  is  Grambla.  This  is  a  trick  to  decoy  the 
girl  away,  to  sell  her  to  some  procuress,"  said  Sir 
Thomas.  "  After  breakfast  I  go  to  the  woods,  and 
learn  from  Peter  who  wrote  this  letter.  Ruth,  I 
charge  you  not  to  leave  the  house  until  I  give  you 
leave." 

"  Sir,  I  believe  my  Harry  has  come  back." 

"  Your  Harry,  foolish  child  1  Men  of  his  sort  make 
love  to  a  different  damsel  every  day." 

M 


178 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  This  is  a  genuine  letter,"  c.jd  my  lady. 

"  Grambla  copied  it  from  some  newspaper." 

"  Believe  me,  Sir  Thomas,  there  are  some  honest 
poor  gentlemen  left  in  the  world.  May  not  this  man 
be  her  brother  ?  " 

"  It  is  impossible,"  he  said.  "  Ruth,  do  you  believe 
you  were  cast  up  by  the  sea,  clasped  in  the  arms  of 
a  dying  mother  ?  " 

"  Surely,  sir,"  the  girl  whispered. 

"  You  believe  the  word  of  Grambla  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  believe  Mother  Gothal.  The  whole 
of  Moyle  knows  my  sad  story." 

"  The  whole  world  has  accepted  a  lie  before  to-day," 
replied  Sir  Thomas.  "  When  Grambla  calls  you  a 
nameless  wench,  he  lies ;  and  some  day  he  shall  own 
to  it.  You  have  neither  brother  nor  sister ;  but  you 
shall  have  name  and  place  if  you  are  patient  and  can 
trust  in  me.  If,  however,  you  tlirow  yourself  into  the 
arms  of  a  deceiver,  look  not  to  me  for  pity." 

"  Will  you  not  tell  me  more,  sir  ?  "  begged  Ruth, 
forgetting  all  fear  of  her  dark  and  dreadful  master. 

"  No,  child !  I  cannot  speak  yet  without  causing 
mischief.  Nor  have  I  yet  concluded  my  reading  of  the 
stars.  You  are  to  obey  me.  Do  not  leave  this  house. 
I  shall  go  to  the  copse  to  meet  the  writer  of  this  letter. 
Remain  with  my  lady,  for  she  has  much  to  say  to  you. 
No  more  self-will,  Ruth.  Your  conduct  of  late  dis- 
pleases me." 

Sir  Thomas  left  the  library,  frowning  more  deeply 
than  usual ;  while  Ruth  turned  for  sympathy  to  my 
lady,  who  had  always  been  gentle  with  her ;  so  that 
the  girl  found  it  hard  to  understand  how  that  kind 
heart  could  love  the  works  of  darkness,  and  how  those 
soft  hands  could  play  the  harp  at  midnight  to  frighten 
evil  spirits  from  her  husband  while  he  invoked  the 
dead. 

"  Why  is  Sir  Thomas  angry  with  me  ?  "  she  asked 
plaintively. 


RUTH   BEGINS  TO  TRAVEL 


179 


"  Because  you  have  joined  yourself  to  these  people 
who  are  enemies  of  all  the  churches,"  my  lady 
answered.  "  I  warned  you,  Ruth,  to  keep  away  from 
these  blasphemers ;  yet  you  seek  their  company 
CO  itinually.  I  entreated  you  to  become  %i  member  of 
thj  one  true  church — forbidden  in  this  godless  land — 
and  you  have  answered  by  seeking  a  pagan  baptism." 

"Oh,  my  lady!"  cried  Ruth.  "You  and  Sir 
Thomas  have  used  me  with  the  greatest  kindness ; 
you  saved  my  life  when  I  was  driven  out  of  Coinagehall ; 
but  you  could  not  give  me  God,  my  lady." 

"  We  sought  to  give  you  instruction,  Ruth." 

"  I  could  not  imderstand,  my  lady.  I  seemed  to  get 
further  away  from  God  ;  but  now  I  am  getting  near. 
I  go  to  the  meetings,  and  I  feel  God  is  so  near  I  could 
almost  put  out  my  hand  and  touch  Him." 

"  Ruth,  you  are  too  young  and  foolish  to  know  what 
this  means.  If  you  go  on  in  this  manner  you  will  surely 
lose  your  senses.  I  hear  already  some  women  in  this 
place  are  fit  for  Bedlam." 

"  My  lady,  'tis  because  they  feel  themselves  near 
God.  They  are  inspired,  madam,  to  explain  the 
Scriptures.  The  blessed  meetings,  the  prayers  and 
preaching,  have  given  me  God,  and  I  must  keep  Him 
— I  cannot  give  Him  up.  I  went  down  to  be  baptised, 
and  when  I  was  in  the  sea,  my  lady,  I  could  behold  the 
angels  up  in  heaven " 

"  Ruth  !  Ruth  I  No  more,"  interrupted  n;y  lady, 
more  near  to  being  angry  than  the  maid  had  ever  seen 
her.  "  This  must  be  put  a  stop  to,  I  hear  you  often 
scream  in  your  sleep,  and  sometimes  believe  yourself 
struggling  with  the  devil ;  and  you  will  even  burst 
into  prayer  while  you  sit  at  table." 

"  I  feel  God  is  calling  me  to  pray  and  to  struggle — 
I  must  obey.  Oh,  my  lady,  may  I  not  find  God  in  my 
own  poor  way  ?  " 

"  The  first  duty  of  a  Christiai  .naid  is  to  obey  those 
who  are  set  over  her ;  and  if  she  persists  in  disobedience 


z8o 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


they  must  punish  her.  When  Sir  Thomas  heard  of 
your  wicked  act  in  seeking  baptism  at  the  hand  of  the 
barber,  he  was  so  angry  that  he  declared  you  should 
stay  in  this  house  no  longer." 

"  Oh,  my  lady  I  " 

"  We  have  therefore  decided  to  send  you  away." 

"  Dear  lady,  do  not  break  my  heart." 

"  Be  not  so  foolish,  child.  Do  you  suppose  we  have 
it  in  us  to  fc  sfike  you  altogether  ?  Sir  Thomas  thinks 
it  would  be  well  for  you  to  travel,  and  thus  obtain  a 
change  of  scene.  You  are  in  ill-health.  Ruth,  else  you 
would  not  listen  so  readily  to  these  blasphemers.  It 
is  also  my  will  that  you  should  go,  for  I  am  well  aware 
the  steward  has  lately  troubled  you  with  his  atten- 
tions." 

"  My  lady,  I  always  run  when  I  see  him  coming," 
said  Ruth,  beginning  to  sob. 

"  Ay,  Ruthie,  I  know  you  are  honest ;  but  you  need 
more  strength  of  mind.  We  have  known  you  are  m 
danger  from  some  plot  of  Grambla  every  time  you 
leave  Bezurrel.  Nay,  child,  do  not  weep.  I  am  sorry 
for  the  rudeness  of  my  steward,  but  gentlemen  are  not 
to  be  held  upon  the  curb." 

"  My  lady,  I  feel  I  am  destined  to  be  ruined.  I 
cannot  find  God  now — you  make  the  way  so  dark." 

"  Foolish  child  I  "  said  my  lady  gently.  "  Dry  your 
tears,  and  pray  for  a  better  courage.  Listen,  Ruth  ! 
Next  week  we  send  you  to  Plymouth  town,  into  a  house 
whe'"  you  will  be  most  kindly  treated ;  the  master 
anc  istress  are  well  known  to  Sir  Thomas.  In  a  town 
you  will  see  many  things  which  you  do  not  dreaui  of 
at  the  present ;  and  there  we  hope  you  may  learn  to 
distinguish  between  true  and  false  relig'on.  We  have 
also  arranged  for  your  education." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  lady  !  Do  not  send  me  away," 
cried  Ruth.  "  I  fear  the  town.  I  fear  still  more  to 
travel." 

"  These  fears  must  be  conquered,"  said  her  ladyship 


RUTH   BEGINS  TO  TRAVEL 


i8i 


with  an  air  of  coldness.  "  No  more,  Ruth  I  Go  to 
your  room  and  take  your  sewing.  Mind  also  what  Sir 
Thomas  told  you,  and  do  not  stir  from  the  house  until 
he  gives  you  leave.  Take  your  letter,  but  forget  a 
brother  wrote  it.  My  dear  child,  you  must  set  yourself 
to  win  a  worthier  lover." 

My  lady  departed,  whUe  Ruth  climbed  sadly  to  her 
room,  and  prayed  for  a  long  while,  but  neglected  to 
take  her  sewing ;  for,  m  spite  of  her  recent  baptism 
and  her  prayers,  she  was  not  in  the  mood  to  obey. 
She  was  a  maiden,  she  was  young,  she  was  in  love ; 
and  she  had  been  command'  "*  not  to  descend  towards 
the  copse  and  meet  her  lover.  This  was  a  talt  which 
could  have  but  one  ending.  So  it  seemed  quite  right 
that  she  should  be  putting  on  her  best  gown,  and 
msdcing  her  hair  tidy,  and  placing  her  mother's  trinket 
round  her  neck ;  nor  could  it  be  sinful  to  exhibit  a 
little  cunning,  to  step  along  the  passages  on  tiptoe, 
to  make  a  sudden  rush  for  the  side  door,  and  a  wild 
flight  for  the  shelter  of  the  shrubberies.  The  clock 
upon  the  stables  marked  eleven ;  therefore  she  had 
abimdsmce  of  time,  for  the  copse  could  be  reached  in 
tventy  minutes'  strolling;  but  Ruth  remembered  Sir 
Thomas  proposed  to  keep  the  appointment  in  her 
stead ;  and  then  at  last  it  dawned  upon  her  she  was 
sinning. 

Yet  she  did  not  return,  because  st.e  was  a  young 
ma  J  and  in  Icwe ;  ^o  persevere  in  the  act  of  disobedi- 
e'  ze  seeme<i  net*- ^ry,    A  lover  was  too  good  to  lose  ; 
even  a  brother  h    med  worth  gaining.    So  she  drew 
more  upon  that  wdful  store  of  cunning  and,  turning 
iped  merrily  towards  the  only  lane 
""'mas  with  all  his  magic  coul- 
*  id  in  love, 
feet  that  she  reached  t'le  Pol- 
drifty  road  half  an  li  '4?  before  noon ;  and  at  the  tumi 
she  hid  herself  b^tnd  the  hedge,  murmuring,  "  A 
horseman  must  com    ±.ia  way.    Sir  Thomas  declares 


from  the  copse, 
which  led  to  it. 
not  outwit  a  sin 
So  nimble  wei 


l82 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


I  have  no  b.'other.    Who  would  call  me  Little  Angel 
but  my  Harry  ?  " 

Although  disobedient  Ruth  was  at  least  in  touch 
with  nature,  and  she  put '  ut  her  head  to  consider  the 
omens.  Two  magpies  fluttered  across  the  fields  to 
drop  into  the  copse  ;  and  the  girl  was  pleased,  for  they 
brought  good  tidings.  "  Two  magot-pies  for  mirth," 
said  she.  "  The  pied  chatterers  would  never  fall  among 
those  trees  should  any  n.  oi  be  waiting  there.  Sir 
Thomas  will  not  enter  the  copse  till  noon ;  but  the 
lover  does  not  wait  upon  the  clock.  If  he  comes  late. 
I  may  suspect  some  trick  of  Grambla.  I;  he  come** 
early,  I  shall  see  my  Harry." 

Yet  the  rider  was  near  before  she  heard  him ;  i- 
he  guided  his  horse  along  a  strip  of  tu^f,  proceeding 
slowly  ;  Lii .  he  was  no  longer  calm  Mr.  Barclay,  but 
a  nervous  rascal  who  stood  in  the  stirrups  to  gaze 
across  the  coimtry.  Ruth  had  gone  upon  her  knees  in 
vast  confusion,  for  the  sun  dazzled  her  eyes  so  that 
she  could  not  see  the  face  of  her  cavalier — besides,  the 
more  distant  brambles  drew  thorny  lines  across  it. 
No  mountebank  would  ride  so  fine  a  horse  and  wear 
such  brilliant  clothing. 

Still  there  was  something  in  the  attitude  of  that 
figure  which  made  her  heart  beat  recklet  ly.  The 
horseman  came  on  until  he  was  sc  e  a  dozen  yards 
away.  Now  the  face  was  mfii"vello  y  clear  I  Ruth 
started  up  to  rush  towards  him,  hut  found  herself  held  ; 
for,  by  tjJcing  the  shortest  w-w  Irom  the  hiding-place, 
her  gown  had  been  caiight  by  brambles. 

"  My  Ruthie  !  "  ^iicd  the  horseman,  leaping  from 
the  saddle. 

"  Oh,  my  love  !  my  love  !  I  have  risked  all  to  meet 
you.    Deliver  me  from  the  thorns." 

"  My  angel,  do  not  tear  your  haris.  Ruth,  what 
in  the  name  of  miracles  !  My  child,  what  are  you 
wearing !  My  loveliest  child,  what  duchess  have  you 
robbed  1 " 


RUTH   BEGINS  TO  TR>VEL 


183 


•'  Harry,  what  mean  you  ?  Oh,  m^  )ve  I  let  me 
feel  your  arms  about  me." 

"  Ruth  I  Ruth  !  Was  ever  maiden  half  so  sweet  as 
you  I  My  aiigel !  where  did  yc-u  find  these  jewels  ? 
How  dare  you  walk  abroad  carrying  a  king's  ratisom 
roi     1  you*^  neck  ?  " 

"  Cut  T.  fn.e,  Harry.    But  toll  me  first  you  love 


me. 


But 


"  Love  you  !    Ay,  more  than  ever,  sweeting. 
Ruth  ! — the  diamonds  !  " 

"  This  trinket  belonged  to  my  mother.  Tis  worth- 
less. Harry,  how  lovely  you  are  I  Look  at  me,  not  at 
my  foolish  ornament." 

"  I  tell  ye,  sweetheart,  you  are  worth  a  fortime 
of  ten  thousand  pounds.  Nay,  trust  your  Harry  to 
know  fine  jewellery  when  he  sees  it.  Worth  stealing  in 
faith  I  Your  face  and  fortune,  Ruth,  would  tempt  a 
lord." 

"  I  believe  you  are  mistaken,  Harry.  Mother  Gothal 
gave  me  this  necklet.  Grambla  left  it  upon  my  mother's 
body.    I  wear  it  to-day  for  the  first  time." 

"  Sweet  Ruthie  !  You  are  no  more  lovely,  but  far 
more  precious.  Who  has  ever  seen  such  jewels  before  ? 
Not  Grambla — ^he  would  have  thought  them  worth- 
less. See  how  they  flash  in  the  sunlight  I  There  is 
indeed  a  fortune  here  1  Sweetheart,  pardon  me  !  I  am 
overpowered  by  the  wealth  of  my  young  princess. 
I  forgot  how  we  arc  placed," 

"  And  you  forget  how  I  stand  held  by  these  bram- 
bles," cried  Ruth. 

"  This  necklet  must  come  off ;  else  we  may  have 
our  throats  cut.  Let  me  hide  it  in  my  pocket,"  said 
Cay,  still  almost  unable  to  believe  his  eyes.  "  Ay, 
true  stones  !  A  fortime,  Ruthie  I  Now  we  are  provided 
for  indeed  I  " 

"  Harry,  if  you  do  not  pay  more  attention  to  me, 
I  shall  be  angry  with  you." 

"  My  angel,  I  hardly  know  what  I  am  saying.    I 


ft 


184 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


come  to  seek  a  sweet  poor  maid,  and  find  a  wealthy 
lady.  'Tis  fortunate  indeed  you  have  not  worn  these 
stones  before.  Sir  Thomas  and  his  lady  would  have 
known  their  worth.  Ah,  my  love  I  my  life  1  .  .  .  And 
now  I  will  cut  yon  froft." 

"  Harry,  Sir  Thomas  waits  for  you  in  the  copse.  He 
forbade  me  to  leave  Bezurrel,"  she  cried,  as  her  excited 
fingers  drew  away  the  necklet. 

"  He  shall  not  find  us,  I  promise  ye.  Sweetheart, 
I  rode  into  Moyle  last  night,  accompanied  by  a  worthy 
young  friend  of  the  medical  profession,  who  has  gone 
to  the  west,  and  hopes  to  escape  in  a  fishing-boat  to 
France,  for  he  had  the  misfortune  to  adndnister  a 
poisoned  pill  to  a  zealous  constable  in  Devonshire.  I 
go  to  Coinagehall  and  present  mjrself  to  Grambla  as  a 
wealthy  gentleman  from  America  in  search  of  his 
sister.    I  had  in  mind  the  story  that  you  told  me." 

"  You  deceived  him,  my  wonderful  Harry !  "  cried 
Ruth,  skipping  down  the  bank  with  a  bramble  still 
trailing  behind  her.  "  Oh,  that  is  famous  I  Come, 
Harry  I  tell  me  your  story  in  kisses." 

"  Ay,  I  had  him  at  the  mercy  of  my  little  finger," 
said  the  young  rogue  presently,  having  by  now  slipped 
the  string  of  diamonds  in  his  pocket.  "  But  the  adven- 
ture led  me  further  than  I  looked  for.  Sweetheart,  I 
come  here  on  a  handsome  horse,  and  wearing  these 
fine  clothes,  which  I  neither  bought  nor  paid  for,  yet 
without  a  single  coin  to  pay  my  lodging.  My  story 
brings  me  as  handsome  an  entertainment  as  I  have  ever 
known.  This  morning  I  pass  to  Grambla  some  worth- 
less paper,  which  are  to  be  had  by  the  bundle  at  a  cer- 
tain place  in  London  for  a  few  pence,  and  obtained 
from  him  fifteen  brave  guineas.  He  th^  presents  a 
raw  country  wench  as  my  beloved  sister,  provides  a 
post-chaise  to  carry  us  away,  lest  by  sta5ring  I  should 
discover  his  lies  were  no  better  than  my  own " 

"  My  Harry  !  I  wish  you  to  tell  no  lies." 

"  I  lied  for  you,  my  angel.    Had  I  spoke  the  truth. 


RUTH   BEGINS  TO  TRAVEL 


185 


we  should  not  stand  here  now.    And  the  raw  wench 
sits  in  the  chaise,  awaiting  her  brother — dreaming  I 
doubt  not  of  much  such  luxury — at  the  foot  of  Pol- 
drifty  Downs." 
"  Have  you  taken  fifteen  guineas  from  Grambla  ?  " 
"  As  many  years  as  he  stole  from  you." 
"  He  will  swear  a  charge  against  you  I  " 
"  Sweetheart,  I  am  not  for  the  gallows.   I  have  been 
under  the  shadow  of  the  noose  so  long  that  now  I  laugh 
at  justice  as  once  I  laughed  at  love,"  said  Cay,  pluck- 
ing the  last  bramble  from  her  gown.   "  You  and  I  were 
bom  to  win  a  happy  future." 

"  You  have  but  just  appeared  before  me.  And  now 
you  will  vanish  like  a  ghost.  While  I — oh,  Harry  1 
to  lose  you  twice — ^this  time  perhaps  for  ever  !  And  I 
dare  not  return  to  Bezurrel." 

"  Nor  shaU  you,"  he  cried,  throwing  his  arms  round 
her. 

"  Next  week  I  go  to  Plymouth.  Sir  Thomas  sends 
me  away  in  anger  because  I  am  become  a  noncon- 
formist." 

"  Then  I  too  am  a  nonconformist.    Come,  Ruthie  ! 
Let  us  away." 
"  Where  would  you  take  me,  Harry  ?  " 
"  To  the  other  side  of  England.   To  London,  liberty, 
and  a  Fleet  wedding.    I'll  find  a  drunken  parson  who 
will  tie  the  knot  for  half  a  crown." 
"  Base  Harry !   Would  you  ruin  me  ?  " 
"  Nay,  sweetheart,  trust  your  life  to  me,  and  you 
shall  never  be  a  fallen  angel.    Think  for  a  moment, 
love  1  It  is  now  past  noon.    Any  moment  Sir  Thomas 
and  his  men  may  pass  this  way ;   or  the  wench  may 
take  fright  and  nm  back  to  Grambla.    To  come  here 
I  faced  death — ay,  and  laughed  at  it.   Twice  I  rode  for 
my  life.   Now  I  must  be  gone,  and  if  I  go  without  you, 
Ruthie,  we  may  not  meet  again.    Fortime  is  kind  to 
a  rogue  twice ;    but  at  the  third  venture  the  jade 
frowns." 


mi 


n 


i86 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  What  have  you  done,  Harry  ?  How  did  you  get 
this  horse,  and  these  fine  clothes  ?  " 

"  By  my  blistering-plasters,  love,  I  promise  you." 

"  Yet  you  have  no  money  I  " 

"  What  do  I  need  of  money,  now  that  you  are  a 
fortune  of  ten  thousand  pounds  ?  Sweetheart,  if  we 
clear  the  coimtry  between  here  and  Tavistock,  a  dirty 
little  town  in  Devonshire  where  of  late  I  have  been 
practbing — ^there  I  obtained  this  horse,  these  clothes, 
the  ring  I  now  press  upon  your  finger,  Ruthie  mine, 
all  in  exchange  for  my  famous  blistering-plasters — ^if 
we  get  clear,  I  say,  we  will  ride  into  Wiltshire ;  and 
there  I  shall  go  upon  my  knees  before  that  disreputable 
scoundrel,  my  uncle,  if  he  lives,  and  present  you  to  him 
and  make  the  grey  hairs  of  his  unmarried  head  stand 
stiff  with  jealousy.  My  little  angel,  this  is  the  day  of 
days  in  our  two  lives.  Here  is  good  sunshine  all  around 
us  !  Here  is  my  horse — a  strong  beast  who  will  carry 
us  both,  I  warrant.  Here  are  we  two  lovers,  sighing 
to  be  one  !  When  I  am  east,  and  you  are  west,  what 
are  we  then  ?  " 

"  Still  lovers,  Harry.  Nay,  I  must  not  come  with 
you." 

"  Then  I  remain,"  said  the  young  man  grimly. 
"  We  will  pass  the  day  together.  This  evening  I  am 
taken  and  brought  before  the  justices.  Next  month 
the  scum  of  Exeter  shall  be  calling  the  last  dying  con- 
fession of  Black  Harry,  hanged  this  morning." 

"  Shall  you  stay  ?  "  she  cried  in  sudden  terror. 

"  By  my  true  love  for  you,  I  swear  it.  Choose 
whether  you  send  me  to  the  gallows,  or  come  with  me 
to  life  and  happiness." 

"Black  Harry!"  she  whispered.  "I  know  but 
little  of  the  world,  but  that  name  means " 

"  I  told  you  as  we  parted  in  the  copse." 

"  Oh,  Harry  I  Did  God  make  you  strong  and  hand- 
some that  you  might  wear  a  mask  upon  the  road  and 
live  by  robbery  ?  " 


RUTH   BEGINS  TO  TRAVEL 


187 


"  God  made  me,  love,  to  be  a  gentleman  ;  but  my 
base  imcle  appealed  against  the  judgment — ^and  he 

won." 

"  I  love  a  robber  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Nay,  child,  a  very  harmless  surgeon  !  'Tis  enough 
if  you  love  him.  You  will  save  him.  Shall  we  walk 
that  way— or  ride  this  way  ?  I  see  your  glance  goes 
eastward,  sweetest  Ruth." 

When  Sir  Thomas  returned  to  Bezurrel  his  face  was 
dark  with  anger.  Finding  my  lady  in  the  drawing- 
room,  with  Martin  her  younger  son,  he  came  to  her  side 
and  said,  "  Manuela,  our  discipline  has  failed." 

"I  know  that  Ruth  has  left  the  house,"  she 
answered . 

"  She  has  now  left  the  parish.  Like  many  a  maid, 
she  chooses  a  life  of  shame  because  the  devil  is  a  hand- 
some fellow  when  he  plays  at  love.  From  a  place  of 
hiding  I  watched  these  precious  lovers.  Even  then  I 
could  have  held  Ruth  back,  but  would  not.  Labour  is 
wasted  upon  a  maid  sentenced  by  destiny  to  ruin. 
Her  lover  is  a  highwayman,  and  she  has  gone  with  him." 


X, 


HM 


CHAPTER   V 

THE  QUACK  DOCTOR  SWEARS  TO  AMEND 

The  direct  road  was  closed  to  the  fugitives  by  the 
waiting  post-chaise. 

"  Besides,"  said  Cay,  "  I  dare  not  pass  into  Devon- 
shire by  way  of  Launceston ;  for  between  that  town 
and  Dartmoor  I  have  earned  some  fame.  By  crossing 
the  southern  slopes  of  this  moorland  we  shall  reach  the 
lo\/er  road  where  I  am  likely  to  be  regarded  as  a  very 
decent  fellow.  To-morrow  evening  we  arrive  at  Ply- 
mouth ;  and  there  we  stay  two  days  to  rest  the  horse." 

"  How  well  he  goes  beneath  a  double  burden  I " 
said  Ruth ;  who  was  shivering  with  happiness  and 
excitement. 

^^  "  He  carries  fame  and  fortune,  love,"  cried  Cay. 
"  Fame  is  light,  while  fortune  is  a  feather.  See  !  there 
is  the  tower  of  Bezurrel  Castle  among  the  trees.  Sing 
your  farewell  to  Moyle,  my  angel." 

"  I  am  looking  at  that  other  tower,"  said  Ruth,  as 
she  pointed  to  the  church.  "  My  mother's  grave  is 
there.    I  shall  return  to  that." 

Scarcely  had  they  reached  the  high  country  when  a 
shout  reached  their  ears.  Standing  in  the  stirrups,  Cay 
perceived  a  horseman  riding  at  full  speed  towards 
them.  He  frowned  and  thrust  a  hand  into  hir  pocket ; 
but  it  came  out  empty  and  was  scon  waving  to  a  friend. 

"  'Tis  old  Jack,  who  came  here  with  me,"  he  ex- 
plained. "  A  very  honest  fellow,  whom  I  would  trust 
with  my  life ;  but  not  with  my  mistress,  nor  my  purse. 
Why,  Jack,  old  lad,  what  do  you  here  ?  "  he  called. 
"  I  thought  you  were  safe  in  Penzance  town  by  now." 

i88 


THE  QUACK  DOCTOR 


189 


"  No  further  west  for  me,"  cried  the  other,  who  was 
a  fellow  of  desperate  appearance.  "  So,  Harry,  my 
son,  you  have  limed  the  bird ;  and,  by  my  soul,  a 
pretty  blackbird.    Your  servant,  mistress." 

"  A  beastly  fellow,"  was  Ruth's  whispered  comment. 

"  V/e  must  ride,  old  lad.  Are  you  vrith  us  ?  "  said  Cay. 

"  Ay,  for  half  a  mUe.  I  came  on  the  chance  of 
finding  you,  and  discovered  instead  a  post-chaise 
waiting  on  the  other  side  of  this  hill.  A  wench  puts 
her  head  out  of  the  window,  and  cries,  '  La,  brother, 
what  a  time  you  keep  me  waiting ! '  '  Sorry,  my 
love,'  say  I,  as  I  ride  up  and  kiss  her — I  like  a  cotmtry 
wench  with  blood  in  her  face.  '  You  ain't  my  brother,' 
she  screams.  '  If  you  mean  Harry,'  I  say,  *  he's  still 
gone  sister-hunting.  He  finds  you  won't  do,  my  love.' 
Then  I  say  to  the  post-boys, '  The  wrong  bird  is  in  the 
trap,  yoimg  rascals.' " 

"  You  were  always  a  bit  too  easy  with  your  tongue," 
Cay  grumbled. 

"  Why,  lad,  you  are  safe  enough.  You  have  the 
prize,  and  there's  no  dodger  in  the  land  to  beat  you. 
The  post-boys  looked  blue,  I  tell  ye.  They  thought 
I  was  gomg  to  slit  their  throats  and  take  their  horses. 
So  they  ride  ofE  with  the  chaise  and  wench  as  hard  as 
they  can  go." 

"  Grambla  knows  already.  We  shall  be  followed," 
cried  Ruth. 

"  There's  no  horse  in  this  parish  to  catch  that 
beauty,"  said  the  wUd  rogue.  "  Your  Harry,  mistress, 
is  never  a  happy  man  unless  he  has  two  or  three  con- 
stables hunting  him.  A  pretty  horseman,  mistress, 
and  a  shapely  fellow.  Ay,  and  a  kind-hearted  gentle- 
man !  Would  rather  be  taken  pulling  off  tight  rings, 
than  cut  'em  off  with  the  fingers.  And  he'll  go  to  the 
gallows  like  a  buck,  carrying  a  posy  and  kissing  his 
hand  to  the  ladies.  May  we  swing  side  by  side,  old  lad  ! 
Do  you  make  for  Plymouth  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  replied  Cay  shortly. 


190 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  Look  for  me  in  the  old  place.  Yonder  you  descend, 
and  there  I  turn  and  make  for  the  Launceston  road. 
They  will  follow  that  way.  I'll  draw  them  after  me, 
and  fool  them  north  while  you  go  south." 

"  Jack,  you  are  mad  to  run  your  head  into  the  noose. 
Turn  again  to  the  west,  my  son." 

"  East  is  best  for  me,"  cried  the  rogue.  "  After 
leaving  you  I  ran  into  a  prayer-meeting,  where  I  was 
converted  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell.  And  a  kind 
fool  takes  me  home  with  him,  and  we  sing  a  hymn 
before  we  go  to  bed.  '  Brother,  here's  to  ye,'  says  my 
host.  '  Sin  no  more.'  '  I  won't,'  say  I.  '  I'll  sell  my 
horse  and  buy  a  pedlar's  basket.'  " 

"  Do  so,"  said  Ruth  earnestly.  "  And  God  will  bless 
you." 

"  Maybe,  mistress,  but  I  desire  my  blessings  now," 
cried  the  careless  rogue.  "  I  cannot  face  the  west.  'Tis 
a  cold  and  barren  country,  full  of  miners  and  fisher- 
men as  foul  in  their  habits  as  the  swine.  A  gentleman 
does  not  mix  with  such.  Think  you,  Harry,  if  I  could 
get  across  to  France  I  should  be  happy  ?  I  am  for 
cloudy  Devonshire  and  the  old  road  again.  Nay,  I 
have  no  craving  for  old  age.  I  have  lived  thirty  years  ; 
I  have  drunk,  robbed,  and  killed — 'tis  a  merry  life.  I'll 
back  to  the  old  road,  and  take  a  purse  to-night  if  it's 
the  last.    Harry,  good-bye  !    To-day  we  live  1  " 

"  Good-bye,  old  Jack  !  " 

"  And  to-morrow  we  swing  !  Farewell,  mistress.  If 
you  bear  a  son,  strangle  him,  for  if  you  let  him  live 
he'll  break  your  heart.  Had  my  mother  strangled  me 
she  might  be  living  now." 

The  fellow  rode  off  towards  the  north,  but  t'  :  others 
did  not  follow  his  flight ;  for  their  way  desce  ied  the 
iiioorland  and  caution  was  necessary.  But  soon  they 
were  in  the  lane,  and  here  Cay  breathed  more  easily ; 
for  it  was  unlikely  that  Grambla  would  guess  they  had 
gone  east  by  the  longer  road,  and  before  passers-by 
could  bring  him  information  they  would  have  got  away. 


I 


n:^.  QUACK   DOCTOR  191 

Hardly  a  word  passed  until  two  parishes  lay  between 
them  and  Moyle  ;  then  Ruth  oestirred  herself  to  lec- 
ture the  young  mari  sharply.  Had  she  been  left  behind 
she  would  have  wept ;  had  they  been  together  for 
only  a  short  time,  she  would  have  been  most  yielding  ; 
but  now  that  there  was  no  immediate  prospect  of 
separation,  she  brought  Harry  to  book  upon  his  past 
misdeeds,  demanded  many  a  solemn  promise  concern- 
ing the  future,  and  in  short  behaved  as  a  woman  will 
when  sure  of  her  man's  affection  and  his  company. 

"  My  Ruthie,  what  could  I  have  done  when  cast  out 
by  my  uncle  ?  "  he  pleaded. 

"  Sunk  your  pride,  Harry,  and  become  the  servant 
of  some  gentleman." 

"  The  first  time  my  master  abused  me,  I  should  have 
struck  him." 

"  You  could  have  turned  porter." 

"  That  needs  no  skill  but  much  strength  ;  whereas 
I  have  much  skill  and  little  strength." 

"  Or  served  in  some  shop." 

"  I  should  have  courted  the  rich  damsels  who  came 
to  buy  silks  and  laces.  Nay,  sweetheart,  when  a  young 
gentleman  is  poor  and  friendless,  there  is  nothing  for  him 
but  the  road.  But  after  to-day  I'll  take  no  more  purses." 

"  Nor  make  a  blistering-plaster  !  " 

"  I  sold  them  once.  That  was  at  least  an  honour- 
able occupation." 

"  To  lie  money  out  of  people's  pockets  !  " 

"  They  were  good  hot  plasters,  I  swear.  Yet  I 
found  a  mixture  of  nitre  and  saltpetre  behind  the 
barrel  of  a  pistol  unbuttoned  pockets  quicker.  Eh, 
Ruthie,  I  have  been  a  sad  dog,  but  I'll  not  follow  shy 
Jack  to  the  Launceston  road.  You  have  saved  my 
body.    Now  you  shall  save  my  soul." 

"  Shy  Jack !  Why  do  you  so  name  that  beastly 
feUow  ?  " 

"  He  boasts,  ten  years  ago,  a  wench  made  him 
blush.    'Tis  a  story  I  do  not  believe." 


192 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  Nor  I,"  said  Ruth.  "  Harry,  is  it  your  earnest 
desire  to  be  saved  ?  " 

"  Why.  sweetheart,  they  say  when  a  man's  body  b 
put  into  the  ground,  that  is  not  the  e:  J  of  him.  I 
know  not  whether  to  believe  in  heaven  and  hell,  but 
this  I  do  know :  if  preachers  speak  truth,  I  would 
rather  find  myself  in  heaven  with  you,  than  in  hell 
with  my  late  comrades.  'Tis  true  I  should  meet  with 
friends  in  both  these  places ;  but  heaven  has  my  heart 
when  Ruth  goes  there." 

"  You  jest,  Harry  I  " 

"  Not  I.  my  love  " 

"  Wlien  did  you  last  pray  ?  " 

II  When  I  was  a  child,  frightened  at  the  darkness." 

"  Did  you  not  pray  when  you  found  yourself  home- 
less ?  " 

"  I  was  too  full  of  curses." 

"  Harry,  let  us  pray  now." 

"  I  know  not  what  to  say,"  he  muttered. 

"  Repeat  the  words  after  me.  We  may  pray  upon 
horseback  as  well  as  m  a  church." 

Then  she  recited  the  Lord's  prayer  and  the  creed, 
while  Cay  mumbled  the  sentences  after  her.  Presently 
Ruth  offered  an  extempore  prayer  in  the  new  style ;  in 
which  she  implored  forgiveness  of  Harry's  sins,  and 
pardon  for  any  she  might  have  committed  since  her 
recent  baptism;  the  act  of  disobedience  that  day 
troubling  her  conscience  a  little.  And  then  she  asked 
simply,  "  Harry,  do  you  not  feel  easier  now  ?  " 

"  Ay,  sweetheart,"  he  said  seriously.  "  I  doubt 
whether  prayers  be  answered,  yet  it  does  a  man  good 
to  pray." 

"  You  must  be  baptised,"  she  said,  getting  some- 
what hysterical.  "  Why  should  I  not  myself  baptise 
you  ?  " 

"  I  would  as  lief  be  baptised  by  you  as  by  the  Arch- 
iHshop  of  Canterbury,"  declared  Cay.    "  Come,  sweet 
heart,  who  is  jesting  now  ?  " 


f* 


THE   QUACK   DOCTOR  193 

"  I  do  not  jest,"  cried  Ruth.  "  Harry,  you  and  I 
belong  to  the  nonconformists.  We  do  not  allow  the 
clergy  to  keep  the  rites  and  ceremonies  to  themselves. 
We  believe  in  a  second  baptism — ay,  and  a  third,  if  it 
be  needful.  And  we  know  all  our  sins  are  washed  away 
by  this  act  of  baptism.  I  went  down  into  the  sea, 
yesterday  was  sennight,  and  Master  Honey  dipped  me 
under  the  water ;  and  when  I  came  out — oh,  Harry  I 
I  could  see  a  glory  in  the  sky,  and  God  seemed  to  draw 
me  up  in  His  arms,  and  to  breathe  upon  me,  and  to  say. 
'  Ruth,  Ruth,  you  are  Mine  nos..'  Glory  be  to  God, 
Harry  I   Glory  !   Glory  I   We  are  to  be  saved  for  ever." 

"  My  sweetheart,  calm  yourself.  Had  the  horse 
plunged  then,  you  must  have  fallen." 

"  I  have  found  God,  Harry.  I  shall  know  no  rest  till 
you  have  found  Him  too.  Stop  at  the  first  water  I 
Let  us  get  down,  and  I  will  baptise  you.  Cannot  1 
give  you  God  as  well  as  a  man  ?  Then  you  will  be  free 
from  Satan,  Harry — pure  in  soul  and  body  as  a  child. 
Repent,  my  love  !  Repent !  Repeat  after  me, '  Glory 
to  God,'  until  your  whole  body  begins  to  glow  and  the 
tears  run  down  your  cheeks." 

"  I  do  repent,"  muttered  the  young  man,  feeling 
for  the  first  time  this  new  fanaticism  then  rising  in  the 
west.  "  I  know  myself  for  a  miserable  wretch.  I  wiU 
seek  baptism — with  an  honest  soul,  I  promise.  Oh, 
glory,  glory  I  Ruth,  my  love  !  Your  arms  are  burning 
round  me." 

"  You  are  getting  near  God.  He  is  coming  down 
to  you,"  she  cried  wildly.  "  This  is  my  Harry.  I 
bring  him  I  I  have  him  fast  I  Hold  on  I  Oh,  my  love, 
hold  on  I  " 

They  clung  together  and  shed  tears ;  kissed  each 
other  passionately,  and  groaned  in  their  zeal,  until 
some  countryfolk  parsed  and  jeered.  They  perceived 
they  were  drawing  near  a  village,  having  just  descended 
a  steep  and  dangerous  hill  without  much  loiowledge  of  it. 
So  they  became  again  composed  and  went  on  steadily. 


P.    l\ 


I    4 


11 


194 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  I  had  a  feeling  come  over  me  then/'  said  Cay,  "  as 
if  I  could  never  do  ill  again." 

"  I  get  that  feeling  when  I  attend  the  meetings," 
said  Ruth.  "  It  was  God  coming  near  you,  Harry. 
Now  I  know  you  are  in  a  fit  state  for  baptism." 

"  Think  you,  sweetheart,  I  may  begin  life  again, 
as  a  new  man  without  a  sin  against  me  ?  " 
"  I  am  most  sure  of  it." 

"  \yould  that  the  law  might  be  brought  to  accept  this 
doctrine,"  he  muttei  "  'Dien  remembering  thev  were 
not  out  to  enjoy  a  day's  excursion,  he  took  a  glance 
behind ;  and  the  same  moment  the  new  religion  was 
forgotten. 

"  See  I  "  he  cried.  "  Two  horsemen  ride  over  the 
brow  of  the  hill." 

"  I  see  them,"  replied  Ruth.  "  They  do  not  pursue 
us,  for  they  go  slowly." 

"  I  know  the  form  of  that  man  upon  the  left,"  said 
Cay,  beginning  to  drive  the  willing  horse.  "They 
come  from  Moyle,  I  swear.  But  I  believe  they  have 
nc  wish  to  harm  us.  One  of  the  horses  carries  a 
weighty  pack." 

As  they  rode  on  their  spirits  rose  because  fortune 
seemed  to  favour  them.  Generous  weather  made 
them  glad,  the  wind  was  behind,  and  they  were 
strangers  in  that  land.  The  two  horsemen  dropped 
back  untU  they  disappeared  from  sight.  So  Harry  and 
his  maid  went  on,  and  when  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon 
they  overtook  a  quiet  countrjonan  jogging  along  upon 
an  undipped  beast. 

"  A  good  day  to  you,  friend,"  cried  Cay.  "  Do  you 
go  to  the  town  of  Liskeard  ?  " 

"  A  good  day  to  you,  young  sir ;  and  to  you,  young 
mistress,"  replied  the  countryman. 

"  It  is  a  good  day,"  said  Ruth. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  the  man.  "  It  is  a  very 
good  day  for  me.  I  do  not  go  to  the  town  of  Liskeard. 
I  am  almost  home." 


THE  QUACK   DOCTOR  X95 

"  Have  you  come  a  long  journey  ?  "  asked  Cay. 

"  Ay,  sir.  I  travelled  to  Ludgvan  church-town,  and 
now  am  returning  to  my  wife." 

"You  are  a  merry  fellow,  I  can  see,  said  Cay. 
"  You  would  not  be  lonely  upon  the  road,  b  you  carry 
with  you  a  large  flagon  of  good  ale." 

"  Nay,  sir,  this  flagon  contains  what  I  went  forth  to 
find." 

"  What  is  that,  friend  ?  " 

"  Water,  sir.  You  see  I  am  safe  upon  the  road  ;  for 
my  purse  is  empty,  and  no  man  would  rob  me  of  a 
flagon  of  water."  ,, 

"  Did  you  say  you  come  from  Lv'gvai:  town  ? 
asked  Ruth  in  great  excitement 

"  Ay,  mistress ;  I  did  say  so, 
man. 

"  Then  you  carry  water  from 

"  I  perceive,  mistress,  you  ap  . 

"  Harry  I  "  cried  Ruth.    "  G* 
Oh,  sir.  you  will  sell  this  gentlM* 
water." 

"  What  mean  you,  sweetheart  >  " 

"  The  man  or  woman  baptised  with  t  aii 
St.  Ludgvan's  well  cannot  be  hanged.  ' 

"  You  are  mistaken,  mistress  "saidtf-  ,-«Matryman. 
"  The  man  who  has  been  bapt  «d  as  i  child  wuh  this 
water  cannot  indeed  be  hanifed  by  a  cord  of  i^mp ; 
but  the  water  has  no  power  ion  a  cor  .jlk.  I  was 
bom  in  Ludgvan  church-tov  ,  and  m^ 
from  the  holy  well.  I  left  my  nativ* 
into  this  country  when  I  married.  - 
was  bom  to  as,  so  I  follow  the  cusioi  _  _     _ 

and  ride  to  Ludgvan  that  I  may  fill  my  ii..^on  from  the 
holy  well.  The  curate  will  baptise  m\  babe  on  Sunday 
with  this  water." 

"  Is  this  a  true  tale  ?  "  said  Cay. 

"  Ah,  sir,  I  perceive  you  are  no  Comishman  " 

"  Trae,  indeed,"  cried  Ruth.    "  Even  I,  who  5 


yed  the  c  tmtry- 

adgv'an's  w-^  ?  " 
.rnish  lady.  " 
with  us  inci<^d. 
a  cupiiul  of  that 


from 


mt'-i  with  water 

own  and  came 

week  a  son 

my  people. 


am  so 


196 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


isnonnt.  know  of  the  power  of  St   Ludgvan's  well. 
Oh,  sir  I  give  me  a  little  of  that  water." 

You  have  a  babe  at  home,  young  mistress.    You 
desire  to  make  him  safe  against  the  rope." 

"  By  heaven,  I  must  have  that  water  I  "  cried  Cay 
so  fiercely  that  the  timid  countryman  turned  pale  and 
clapped  a  hand  upon  his  flagon.  "  Nay.  sir,  I  am  no 
robber,  yet  I  am  a  better  man  than  you.  I  must  have 
a  pint  of  that  precious  water.  I  will  give  you  a  guinea 
for  a  cupful." 

"  I  perceive  you  are  stronger  than  myself,"  said  the 
counti^Tnan.  "  Should  we  fight,  the  flagon  might  be 
broken ;  then  all  would  be  losers.  As  you  are  well 
mounted,  why  do  you  not  ride  to  St.  Ludgvan's  well 
and  obtain  the  precious  water  for  your  child  ?  " 

"  We  are  pressing  to  the  east.  We  cannot  make 
the  long  journey  westward  to  St.  Ludgvan.  I  have 
no  child,  friend.  I  belong  to  the  nonconformists,  and 
I  require  this  water  for  my  baptism." 

"  Sir,  you  have  been  baptised." 

"  Into  the  church  without  my  consent.  We  believe 
that  is  no  baptism." 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  people  called  nonconformists," 
said  the  countryman  in  a  surly  fashion.  "  But  I  thank 
God  they  have  not  yet  come  into  the  parish  where  I 
dwell.   To  my  mind  they  are  infidels  and  blasphemers." 

"  They  will  fill  your  soul  with  joy  and  light."  began 
Ruth  ;  but  Cay  checked  her ;  then  ^  dressed  himself 
again  to  the  countryman,  who  desired  to  get  away 
from  such  dangerous  fanatics,  of  whom  the  man  had 
plainly  committed  some  crime  since  he  went  in  terror 
of  the  hangman. 

"  Friend,  be  assured  I  would  not  rob  you ;  but  I 
pray  for  a  little  of  that  water,  which  you  can  well 
spare,  for  your  flagon  is  large ;  and  you  shall  go  upon 
your  way  the  richer  by  a  guinea." 

"  Would  you  have  me  send  out  the  curate  to  baptise 
you  ?  "  scoffed  the  countryman. 


->     / 


THE  QUACK  DOCTOR 


197 


"  My  young  u  litress  will  baptise  me." 

"  This  is  the  greatest  blasphemy  I  ever  heard  of. 
Now  I  am  sure  you  nonconf onnists  are  children  of  the 
devil.  Should  I  baptise  you,  sir,  that  would  be  rank 
Uasphemy ;  for  you  are  a  grown  man,  and  I  am  in- 
deed no  minister.  But  if  the  young  lady  baptises  you 
—that,  sir,  is  the  sin  which  can  never  be  forgiven." 

"  Go  your  way  to  church,  friend,  and  leave  us  to  our 
methods,"  said  Cay.  "  Again  I  say,  sell  me  a  little  of 
the  magic  water ;  or  I  shall  take  it  by  force  and  give 
you  nothing." 

"  I  believe  you  are  little  better  than  a  cutpurse, 
said  the  coimtryman.    "  I  suspect  also  you  are  mad. 
Cutpurse  or  madman,  I  will  not  fight  you ;  and,  if  I  am 
not  to  get  awa>  with  the  whole  contents  of  my  flagon, 
I  will  sell  you  a  part.    Show  me  your  guinea." 

Cay  held  one  out. 

"  I  shall  at  least  have  made  the  journey  without 
cost,"  said  the  man  more  cheerily.  "  Half  a  mile  along 
this  lane  we  come  to  a  flat  stone,  which  your  imagina- 
tion—a strong  one,  I  doubt  not— may  convert  into  a 
font— though  that  to  my  mind  is  also  blasphemy. 
In  the  centre  of  this  stone  is  a  small  depression,  which 
commonly  holds  about  a  pint  of  rain-water.  Now  it 
will  be  dry.  Here  I  shall  pour  out  some  of  St.  Ludg- 
van's  water.  Then  I  will  take  the  guinea  and  depart. 
I  pray  yoii  not  to  raise  the  devil  till  I  am  out  of  sight." 

They  rode  dong  the  lane,  and  came  presently  to  the 
great  stone  which  the  co\mtr3anan  had  mentioned. 
Having  alighted  from  their  horses,  the  water-carrier 
uncorked  his  flagon,  then  half  filled  the  natural  bowl. 
After  that  he  snatched  the  guinea,  spat  upon  it,  and 
hurried  away,  vastly  afraid  of  being  struck  by  lightning. 

For  good  or  evil  baptism  was  conferred  by  maid  upon 
man  beside  that  ancient  stone  which  had  perhaps  been 
the  centre  of  fierce  pagan  rites  ;  and  such  was  Ruth's 
zeal  she  did  not  cease  to  sprinkle  her  lover  until  the 
supply  of  holy  water  failed.    There  was  no  fanaticism 


198 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


then  ;  all  wais  simplicity  of  belief  and  natural  faith ; 
which  might  have  been  foolish  credulity,  but  was  not 
blasphemy. 

Ruth  would  have  prayed  for  an  hour,  but  Cay  drew 
her  towards  the  horse.  They  stood  for  a  few  moments 
to  embrace  again ;  and  then  rode  away  among  the 
lengthening  shadows. 

"  I  told  you  God  would  come  if  you  repented,  Harry. 
You  did  repent,  and  so  God  sent  the  man  with  St. 
Ludgvan's  water.  Now  you  are  pure  and  sinless  ;  nor 
can  you  be  hanged  for  any  of  your  past  misdeeds.  You 
are  now  a  Comishman,  my  Harry." 

"  I  could  never  speak  their  droning  language,  sweet- 
heart." 

"If  a  Comishman  should  challenge  you,  repeat  to 
him,  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  in  his  own  language. 
Thus,  Harry  :  ouyn,  dow,  tray,  peswar,  pimp.  That 
will  satisfy  him  you  are  indeed  a  Comishman." 

Cay  repeated  the  words  after  her  several  times; 
then  declared  they  were  safe  in  his  memory. 

They  came,  as  darkness  was  falling,  to  a  wayside 
inn,  where  the  landlady  informed  them  she  could 
accommodate  two  travellers  for  the  night.  A  meal 
was  served,  and  they  fell  to  it  heartily  after  the  long 
day's  fasting.  During  the  course  of  it  Ruth  required 
her  mother's  necklet,  and  Cay  handed  it  over,  yet  most 
unwiUingly,  and  begging  her  to  be  careful  not  to 
show  it. 

"  I  am  accustomed  to  place  it  beneath  my  pillow  " 
she  said.  ' 

After  supper  Cay  rose,  as  he  desired  to  go  to  the 
stable  and  tend  to  the  horse  hunself.  Ruth  went 
with  him  to  the  yard-gate,  and  whispered  as  he  was 
about  to  leave  her,  "  Harry,  be  careful  not  to  commit 
a  sin." 

Then  she  strolled  along  the  peaceful  country  lane, 
filled  with  the  half-darkness  of  a  night  in  early  simimer ; 
and  she  mused  upon  many  thmgs,  but  not  upon  her 


THE  QUACK   DOCTOR 


199 


own  faults  of  disobedience  to  Sir  Thomas,  and  of 
wandering  out  into  the  world  with  her  young  lover; 
for  no  ill-deed,  she  argued,  could  proceed  from  sacred 

Spiritual  excitement  had  worked  a  change  in  Ruth, 
of  which  she  was  well  aware  ;  but  it  went  deeper  than 
she  knew  of.  Her  feet  were  led  along  the  lane  as  if 
by  some  sense  of  duty.  She  was  not  called  to  walk 
there  ;  she  sunply  went,  and  could  not  help  it.  Yet 
she  was  not  astonished  to  hear  the  tread  of  horses  ; 
for  the  same  instinct  which  led  her  from  the  mn  told 
her  the  two  riders  they  had  seen  some  hours  before 
were  close  at  hand.  Nor  was  she  surprised  at  behold- 
ing in  the  dim  light  the  faces  of  Martin  Just  and  Peter 

Clabar.  , ,      ^  ,  , 

"  Here  is  our  runaway !    We  could  not  have  done 

this  better,"  cried  Martin.         ^    ,  ^    ^,    ,    .    t  *«ii 
"  Are  you  come  to  take  me  back  to  Moyle  ?    1  tell 

you  plainly,  sirs,  I  do  not  go,"  said  Ruth. 
"  We  come  to  help  you  on  your  journey.    We  are 

Samaritans,  not  Levites,"  replied  Martin.  ^^ 

"  Though  in  my  opinion,  Ruth,  you  are  a  tool, 

said  Cherry.  .       „  x  4.u 

"  She  does  not  ask  for  your  opmion,  Peter— neither 

do  I,"  said  Martin. 
"  Why  did  you  not  ride  us  down  before  f      askea 

Ruth.  ,  .  vx  J        u- 

"  This  lad  was  afraid  your  gentleman  might  draw  tiis 
pistols.  For  my  part  I  did  not  care  whether  we  found 
you  or  not.  We  took  the  lower  road  by  chance,  and 
soon  discovering  we  were  right  came  on." 

"  You  would  have  turned  back  had  I  not  promised 
to  protect  you ;  and  then  Ruth  would  have  gone  with- 
out her  clothing,"  said  Cherry  scornfully. 

"  I  dared  you  to  strike  my  horse,"  said  Martm  hotly. 

"  And  I  did  so.  Now  you  can  hardly  sit  upnght  m 
the  saddle.  We  have  not  ridden  fori:y  miles,  and  you 
are  galled  already." 


300 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


RutW'  ^1   '  Tf,  ^''"^^  "^  "°*^^&  to  'ne,"  said 

'.  i    ,  ^*"  y^  *e"  »ne  your  business  and  let  me  go  ? " 

My  lady  desires  me  to  teU  you  the  f eUow  you  now 

elope  with  IS  a  great  scoundrel  who  will  drive  you  to 

lead  a  shameful  life."  began  Martin  sullenly. 

Please  to  tell  my  lady,  sir,  Harry  Cay  is  a  gentle- 
man with  whom  my  honour  and  my  life  are  safe." 
^^  ..      .^  "^f  exchange  places.  Mistress  Ruth— and 
sex.     said  Cherry,     you  would  call  me  fool,  and  I 
should  make  your  answer." 

J'J^  yo"  are  of  age."  continued  Martin.  "  you  must 
be  aUowed  to  choose  your  way.  My  lady  desired  me 
to  nde  after  you,  and  deliver  you  this  parcel,  which 

tTh^^H  r^,^l«'^i"g '  ^  this  letter,  which  yo^  are 
to  hand  to  the  young  gentleman  whom  you  honour 
vath  your  company.  And  now  that  we  have  dis- 
charged our  duty  we  will  leave  you  " 

"I  thank  you  both,"  cried  Ruth  warmly.     "  Tell 
my  lady  all  will  end  well ;  command  me  to^ker,  sir 
and  I  pray  convey  my  thanks  to  her  for  all  the  kind- 
ness she  has  shown  me.    Master  Peter,  will  you  also  do 
me  a  service  ?  "  she  begged,  holding  up  to  Cheny  her 
mother  snecMe.  which  she  had  wrap^d  securely  in 
her  handkerchief.    "  Will  you  ask  my  lady  to  keep  thS 
for  me.  untU  I  am  in  need  of  it  ?    Tis  a  trifling  thing 
that  once  belonged  to  my  dear  mother,  and  I  fear  it 
may  be  stolen  from  me." 
''  By  your  gentleman."  said  Martir. 
„  JJ.^y*  ^"* '  ^y  some  villain  of  the  road." 
^^  Give  It  me  !    Why  should  Peter  carry  it  ?  " 

''  By  heaven,  I'll  have  it  I  " 

"  Keep  off.  little  man.  or  I  may  do  you  some  injury 
Take  your  parcel.  Mistress  Ruth-and  farewell.    I  wUl 
bear  this  trmket  to  my  lady  as  safely  as  I  shaU  convey 
this   young  gentleman   to   Bezurrel   Castle.     Come 
Martm!    Let  us  be  going  to  find  shelter." 


THE  QUACK   DOCTOR 


201 


Ruth  left  them  wrangling,  and  returned  to  the  inn, 
staggering  beneath  her  parcel.  There  she  discovered 
Harry  half  distracted  and  accusing  the  honest  landlady 
of  having  made  away  with  her.  She  told  of  her  adven- 
ture ;  but  kept  back  part. 

"  I  knew  I  had  seen  one  of  those  horsemen  before," 
said  Cay.  "  My  Lady  Just  must  have  few  friends 
among  great  ladies  ;  for  she  seems  to  care  for  the  poor 
and  fatherless." 

"  She  is  good  indeed,"  Ruth  answered.  "  But  Sir 
Thomas  is  a  man  of  iron.  Harry,  I  have  returned  to 
her  my  mother's  necklet." 

The  yoimg  man  started  up,  white-faced  and  gasping. 
"  Sent  to  her  the  necklet !  Given  her  the  diamonds  ! 
Then,  Ruth,  we  are  ruined." 

"  No  more  so  than  we  were  this  morning ;  when 
you  did  not  know  of  the  diamonds,  and  I  believed  them 
worthless.  I  have  not  given  them  to  my  lady — ^nor 
indeed  would  she  accept  of  them — ^but  have  asked  her 
to  take  charge  of  them.  Were  you  net  somewhat  too 
eager  to  embrace  Ruth,  when  you  thought  her  a  great 
fortime  ?  Do  you  shrink  from  Ruth,  now  that  she 
is  poor  ?  " 

"  No,  by  my  soul,"  cried  the  young  convert  loudly. 
"  Ruth  is  Ruth  with  fortune  or  without.  I  am  true  to 
the  maid  who  saved  my  life,  and  now  will  save  my  soul. 
You  have  done  well,  my  little  angel.  Had  we  kept  the 
diamonds — I  had  not  thought  of  this  before — I  could 
not  have  sold  them.  The  fust  jeweller  to  whom  I 
offered  them  would  have  placed  me  in  the  charge  of 
constables  for  a  thief.  We  have  fourteen  of  Grambla's 
guineas — part  of  his  debt  to  you.  We  have  health  and 
youth.    And  we  have  love." 

"  We  have  God  too,  Harry,"  she  cried  excitedly. 
"  Now  I  know  my  lady's  letter  of  entreaty  to  you  is 
but  an  insult  to  a  gentleman.  I  staked  my  life  upon 
your  loyalty — ^and  have  won  !  " 


CHAPTER   VI 


TWO  YOUNG  PEOPLE   FALL  OUT   UPON  THE  WAY 

There  being  no  decent  inn  within  a  score  of  miles, 
Cherry  and  Martin  were  forced  to  pull  up  at  the  first 
ale-house  to  which  they  came  after  bidding  farewell  to 
Ruth.  Their  cry  for  ostler  brought  forth  the  landlord 
himself,  who  assured  them  his  house  was  the  best  in 
the  neighbourhood,  and  far  better  than  many  so-called 
inns ;  while  his  good  lady  followed,  being  drawn  to 
the  door  by  the  sound  of  genteel  voices,  to  assure  the 
gentlemen  they  were  most  welcome,  but  unfortunately 
she  had  only  three  bedrooms,  and  of  these  two  were 
already  accommodating  a  bagman  and  a  curate. 

"  However,"  said  she,  "  the  third  room  is  at  your 
service,  gentlemen ;  and  I  doubt  not  you  will  be  able 
to  shift  for  this  night  together." 

"  How  far  away  is  the  next  house  ?  "  asked  Cherry. 

"  Five  miles,  sir ;  but  'tis  a  beggarly  house,  and 
most  uncleanly." 

"You  may  stop  here  if  you  choose,  Martin.  I  go 
on,"  she  said. 

"  You  I'ool,  Peter  !  If  I  can  put  up  with  this  place, 
why  cannot  you  ?  "  he  whispered.  Then  he  said  to 
the  landlady,  "  Show  us  the  chamber,  my  good 
woman." 

"  I  am  told,  sir,  there  are  soir.e  drunken  sailors  at 
the  next  house,"  called  the  landlord,  who  had  already 
pulled  the  saddles  from  the  horses.  "  I  doubt  if  you 
would  find  accommodation,  but  'tis  very  likely  you 
would  leave  in  the  morning  with  an  empty  purse." 

"The   young   gentleman   was   jesting,"    said   the 

202 


TWO   YOUNG   PEOPLE   FALL   OUT     203 

woman  pleasantly.    "  He  would  not  leap  from  the 
pan  into  the  fire,  as  the  saying  is." 

Cherry  said  nothing  more  ;  nor  could  she,  with  the 
host  and  hostess  listening,  and  the  bagman  leaning 
from  the  window  of  the  kitchen.  She  went  with  Martin 
into  the  poor  place,  and  they  followed  the  landlady 
up  a  crooked  flight  of  stairs,  into  an  ill-smelling  room. 
The  floor-space  beneath  a  sloping  roof  was  almost 
filled  by  a  curtained  bed,  which  was  the  sole  article  of 
furniture.  Here  the  landlady,  at  Cherry's  request, 
placed  the  candlestick  upon  the  boards  and  left  them, 
after  receiving  Martin's  order  for  the  best  supper  she 
could  provide. 

"  You  have  quarrelled  with  me  the  whole  of  this 

day,"  he  began  immediately  the  door  was  closed.    "  I 

have  never  known  you  in  such  an  ill-humour,  and 

that  is  saying  much.    I  suppose  you  are  in  love  with 

this  white-faced  Ruth  and  vexed  at  losing  her." 

"  One  person  cannot  make  a  quarrel,"  replied  Cherry. 

"  He  can  quarrel  with  himself ;   and  that  is  what 

on  have  done." 

"  Then  what  business  had  you  to  answer  ?  " 
"  You  angered  me  with  your  vile  temper.    At  the 
first  we  were  friends,  and  studied  together.   We  seemed 
to  have  many  ideas  in  common,  though  you  are  a 
Clabar,  and  I  am  a  Just." 

"  My  family  is  older  than  yours.    Clabars  were  till- 
ing Cornish  soil  when  the  Justs  were  unknown." 

"  You  preach  upon  Jiving !  "  Martin  continued. 
"  You  told  me  you  had  discovered  how  to  be  happy 
every  day,  even  in  poverty  and  sickness.  By  dwell- 
ing in  a  woodland,  you  said,  by  tending  the  flowers,  and 
watching  the  birds  ;  by  not  quarrelling  with  any  living 
creature  ;  by  accepting  fortune  as  it  comes  and  making 
the  best  of  it  ;  and  by  cultivating  the  spirit  of  happi- 
ness—by doing  all  this,  you  declared,  we  should  hve 
long  and  make  a  profitable  use  of  our  talents.  Why  do 
you  not  practise  what  you  preach  ?  " 


.  .i'1 


804 


<« 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

lam  perfecUy  happy."  replied  Cherry.  "Even 
though  I  stand  in  this  ill-smelling  room  of  a  wayside 
Deer-house,  m  the  company  of  a  most  sullen  voune 
gentleman.  ^  ^ 

"Is  it  not  true  what  I  say  ?  Your  every  word  is  a 
chaUenge  to  fight.  The  first  time  I  walked  with  you 
m  Bezurrel  Woods,  I  agreed  you  had  discovered  a 
perfect  way  of  living,  and  I  told  you  I  would  gladly 
spend  my  life  according  to  your  teaching.  Then  you 
must  turn  upon  me  with  a  frown,  and  call  me  idle.'* 

You  would  have  sat  beneath  a  tree  all  day,  with 
a  book  upon  your  knees.     You  would  have  done 
notnmg  to  aid  your  fellow-creatures." 
''  Pray  what  have  you  done  ?  " 
"i  ^5*,w^th  them,  and  try  to  arouse  their  sluggish 
min<te.    I  have  at  least  succeeded  in  arousing  you  " 
^^  You  bring  out  all  that  is  evil  in  me." 
That  is  my  desire.    When  it  is  out,  do  not  suffer 
It  to  return.    So  you  intend  to  pass  the  night  m  this 
foul  place.    I  advise  you  to  break  the  window  if  it 
will  not  open. 

'I  Do  you  refuse  to  remain  here  with  me  ?  " 

u  T  f  ,t  ^^"^  ^^  ^^^  *°  s^^^P  in  a  good  atmosphere." 
^^      I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Peter,"  said  Martin  hotly. 

You  consider  yourself  too  fine  a  gentleman  to  lie  with 
the  son  of  a  baronet.  You  might  consent  to  share  a 
room  with  David,  for  he  is  the  eldest  son  and  heir.  But 
1—1  am  not  good  enough.  You  regard  me  as  offensive. 
You  would  be  poisoned  if  you  shared  a  room  with  me." 

C\..L^'^"^?^  ^"""^  ^^""^  ^°  ^  ^^  yourself."  said 
unerry.  i  do  not  choose  to  pass  the  night  in  this 
chamber— and  that's  the  end  of  it." 

^^  You  would  lie  here  if  I  were  out  of  it." 

I  From  necessity  I  might." 

"  I  have  heard  too  many  of  your  insults."  said  Martin 
nercely.  I  do  not  know  why  I  have  been  friendly 
with  you— the  son  of  a  poor  man,  a  mere  scribbling 
clerk,  who  now  hves  upon  the  bounty  of  my  father  " 


TWO   YOUNG   PEOPLE   FALL  OUT     205 


little  money 
you  are  nevet 


"  You  lie,  Martin !    My  father  has  a 
saved  by  industry,  which  is  a  virtue 
likely  to  make  acquaintance  with." 

"  When  that  is  gone,  you  and  he  will  starve.  And 
for  my  part  I  shall  not  be  sorry.  Were  my  father  to 
die,  which  God  forbid,  David  would  turn  you  out  of 
Bezurrel  Woods." 

"  Why  should  he  act  so  spitefully  ?  " 

"  Because  yoa  insult  him,  as  you  do  me.  We,  the 
sons  of  Sir  Thomas  Just,  make  ourselves  the  friends  of 
a  ruined  yeoman's  son  !  " 

"  Who  does  not  need  your  friendship." 

"  Go  out !  Lie  under  the  hedge  for  all  I  care,"  cried 
Martin,  making  an  angry  movement  and  treading  upon 
the  candlestick. 

Cherry  descended  the  stairs,  with  a  girlish  smile  upon 
her  pretty  bojdsh  face,  which  was  hardened  suitably 
as  she  approached  the  landlady,  who  had  been  listening 
attentively  to  le  high  voices  overhead,  and  inquired 
whether  she  tould  be  given  accommodation  in  the 
stable.  It  so  happened  that  the  ragged  curate  was 
seated  in  a  comer  of  the  kitchen  ;  and  he  rose  at  once 
with  a  bow,  to  inform  the  young  gentleman  he  was 
sorry  to  hear  his  companion  was  a  violent  fellow,  and 
as  he  himself  was  very  little  accustomed  to  occupy  a 
room  alone,  the  young  gentleman  would  honour  him 
by  sharing  it.  Cherry  thanked  him  with  all  her  heart, 
but  could  not  accept  his  kindness.  Then,  being  in- 
formed by  the  landlady  she  might  d'^  worse  than 
sleep  in  the  loft,  which  was  indeed  far  better  than  any 
accommodation  she  would  be  likely  to  obtain  at  the 
next  ale-house,  she  went  out  into  the  yard  and  dis- 
covered the  landlord,  who  provided  her  with  a  truss 
of  hay  by  means  of  which  she  made  herself  a  bed,  mur- 
muring the  while,  "  Poor  Martin  !  I  believe  he  will  not 
speak  with  me  again." 

At  the  next  meeting  there  was  no  opportunity  for 
bitterness,  as  they  supped  in  the  kitchen — ^this  poor 


■mm 


206 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


house  having  no  other  room — amid  smoke  and  fumes. 
Meanwhile  curate  and  bagman  discussed  from  their 
respective  comers  upon  the  religious  revival,  then  be- 
ginning to  make  turmoil  in  the  villages ;  the  curate 
affirming  that  it  was  nothing  less  than  a  fresh  establish- 
ment of  Satan's  kingdom  upon  earth  ;  while  the  bag- 
man, although  a  stout  man  for  the  church,  argued 
against  the  curate,  and  talked  for  victory.  Host  and 
hostess  had  nothing  to  say,  except  that  any  form  of 
religious  revival,  which  discouraged  the  consumption 
of  good  liquor,  was  assuredly  the  work  of  evil  spirits. 
But  when  Cherry  and  Martin  had  left  the  kitchen,  all 
were  agreed  that  two  handsomer  young  gentlemen  had 
never  set  foot  upon  Cornish  soil ;  although  the  stronger 
of  the  two,  according  to  tht  bagman,  who  had  more 
worldly  wisdom  than  the  rest,  had  little  right  to  be  a 
gentleman,  since  any  lady  in  the  land  might  well  be 
jealous  of  his  features. 

Cherry  made  for  the  stable,  but  Martin  followed  at  a 
sulky  distance,  and  called,  "  Stay  a  moment,  Peter  I  " 
when  his  companion  was  about  to  disappear. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Martin,  if  I  offended  you  by  seeming 
to  prefer  the  hayloft  to  a  chamber  in  your  company," 
she  said. 

"  There  must  be  some  good  reason,"  he  replied. 

"  Do  not  suppose  I  dislike  you,  Martin." 

"  You  are  the  strangest  fellow  in  this  world.  Let  us 
walk  along  the  road,  Peter— the  people  of  the  house 
strain  their  ears  to  catch  what  we  are  saying." 

"  I  will  not  go  far,  as  I  am  tired,"  said  Cherry,  going 
with  him  from  the  yard. 

"  Then  I  am  the  stronger  of  the  two  1  You  may  beat 
me  riding,  for  you  are  the  lighter— though  that  is  a 
thing  I  cannot  understand — but  I  can  walk  you  down." 

"  You  cannot  talk  me  down.  I  consider  you  a  vain 
young  dog." 

"  By  heavens  !  "  cried  Martin.  "  Cannot  you  open 
your  mouth  without  abusing  me  ?  " 


TWO  YOUNG   PEOPLE   FALL  OUT     207 

"  Very  easily,  if  you  show  me  the  v«»,y." 

••  I  declare  there  is  no  fellow  like  you  in  the  world. 
Will  you  tel!  me  why  my  father  likes  you  so  well  ?  '' 

"  Why  question  me  when  Sir  Thomas  is  not  dumb  ? 
He  likes  me  because  I  am  a  papist."  ^ 

"  Why  does  he  like  your  father,  who  is  a  heretic  ? 

"  For  my  sake." 

"  Why  does  David  like  you  ?  " 

"  Because  my  sporting  spirit  matches  his." 

"  You  have  no  sporting  spirit.  You— a  strong 
fellow— shrink  from  a  coney  in  a  gin  ;  you  are  fright- 
ened at  the  sight  of  blood.  Answer  this  question,  Peter 
—what  makes  me  friendly  to  you  ?  " 

"  Because  two  quarrelsome  spirits  strike  a  spark  of 
sympathy,"  she  declared. 

"  You  are  the  greatest  mystery  on  earth— I  quote 
my  father's  words.  Wlio  taught  you,  Peter  ?  David 
and  I  have  been  educated  as  gentlemen ;  you  have 
never  even  been  to  school.  Yet  we  cannot  talk  like  you. 
And  I  believe  you  have  as  much  literature  as  either 

"  My  professors  were  men  who  had  grown  learned  by 
travel.  My  books  were  once  the  faces  of  my  fellow- 
creatures.   So  you  like  me,  Martin  ?  " 

"  Some  days  I  hate  you  ;  and  other  days  I  have  it  in 
my  heart  to  love  you." 

"  Even  as  Damon  loved  Pythias  ?  "  she  asked  care- 
lessly. 

"  How  did  you  hear  of  Damon  and  Pythias  ?  " 

"  From  a  book  your  father  lent  me." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  their  friendship,"  said  Martm 
sullenly.  "  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  my  affection  for  you 
was  not  a  natural  one.  Do  not  take  this  amiss,"  he 
went  on  hurriedly. 

"  Explain,"  she  said. 

"  Nay,  I  dare  not.  When  you  look  at  me— and  smile 
as  though  you  forgot  yourself— and  the  comers  of  your 
mouth  quiver,  I  could  al*-  ost  forget  you  are  a  man." 


mm 


208 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  And  then,  Damon,  you  regard  me  as  Pythias  I  " 

"  The  same  hour  I  am  cursing  you  for  your  bitter 
tongue.  Why  is  it  that  both  David  and  myself  have 
this  feeling  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  spare  David,  because  his  wit  is  not  so  keen  as 
yours— though  he  will  make  the  best  man  of  the  two. 
I  believe,  Martin,  we  could  agree  together." 

"  Why  should  my  brother  and  I  desire  to  agree  with 
you  ?  "  he  continued  restle.  ly.  "  We  are  high-bom 
gentlemen,  while  you— be  not  oKended,  Peter— you  are 
the  son  of  a  poor  man.   At  least  so  it  is  supposed." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Cherry  in  her  gruffest 
voice. 

"  Let  me  have  my  say.  It  is  not  usual  for  the  sons  of 
a  baronet  to  go  'lown  into  the  cottages  to  find  a  friend. 
They  go  after  wenches,  it  is  true.    But  I  do  not." 

"  And  I  like  you  the  better  for  it,"  added  Cherry. 

"We  came  to  see  you  out  of  curiosity.  We  came 
again,  and  could  not  stay  away  ;  for  you  threw  a  spell 
oyer  David  by  your  strength,  while  you  fascinated  me 
with  your  learning.  We  have  even  quarrelled  over  you, 
when  each  of  us  required  your  company  the  same  day." 

'  'A  pretty  story !  Two  young  gentlemen  fighting  over 
the  right  to  walk  and  talk  with  a  fellow,  their  inferior ! " 

"  Yc:  do  not  go  after  wenches.  You  do  not  turn 
your  head  if  a  chambermaid  of  Bezurrel  waves  her  hand 
to  you.    Can  you  explain  your  nature  to  me,  Peter  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  could  do  so,  Martin ;  but  allow  me  for 
the  present  to  remain  a  mystery.  To  your  father  my 
nature  is  as  clear  as  daylight." 

"  That  is  not  so.  You  are  as  great  a  mjrstery  to  him 
as  to  David  and  myself." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?  " 

"  He  has  often  declared  you  are  not  the  son  of 
Clabar." 

"  Sir  Thomas  would  never  have  used  such  words." 
"  He  has  uttered  them  in  my  presence." 
"  What  more  did  he  say  ?  " 


TWO  YOUNG  PEOPLE  FALL  OXTT     309 

"  He  spoke  Italian  to  my  mother ;  and  I  do  not 
undeiBtand  that  language.    But  I  heard  the  name  of 

Grambla  several  times."  „  ,.     ^  *».«i  u«  j  ♦*»- 

••  You  mistook  his  meanmg.  Mother  Gothal  had  the 
care  of  me  as  an  infant  from  my  birth  and  she  knows 
very  weU  my  father  is  John  Clabar.  And  I  shall  fight 
any  man  who  declares  the  contrary."       ^^ 

"  You  must  fight  with  my  father  then. 

••  Any  man  except  him,"  said  Cherry  uneasUy;  for 
she  remembered  the  books  of  witchcraft,  ^y 
nothing  more  on  this  subject,  or  I  shall  be  vexed  with 
you,"  Ihe  went  on.  "  I  am  retmng  now.  I  shall  re- 
member, Martin,  that  you  love  me. 

••  I  trust  you  wiU  strive  to  make  yourself  more 
worthy  of  a  gentleman's  affection."  said  the  young  man 
loftilv  "  Let  us  have  no  more  folly  about  this  cham- 
ber. Tis  a  poor  place.  I  know;  yet  you  need  not 
despise  what  I  am  able  to  accept." 
'•I  go  to  my  hayloft."  said  Cherry  with  the  utmost 

"  If^'ou  do  so— after  this  friendly  conversation— I 
swear  I  shaU  never  forgive  you." 

"  My  desire  to  sleep  among  the  hay  is  part  of  tne 

mystery  of  my  nature."  j    x  ;♦ .»  ^a.^ 

"  Call  me  offensive,  and  make  an  end  of  it,    cned 

Ikfoff  in 

"  I  A^sh  you  good  night.  Martin.   Now  I  beUeve  you 

*"^l"lwll  have  no  more  words  with  you.    Nor  shall  I 
ever  walk  again  with  you— bastard  ' ' '  „    .• 

"  Ah  1  "  cried  Cherry,  as  she  turned  to  face  Martm, 
whose  face  was  whiter  than  her  own.   One  moment  they 
stared  at  each  other  in  the  half-darkness ;   the  next 
Cherry  advanced,  as  if  to  strike  a  blow.   Then  she  ra- 
with  a  semblance  of  terror,  towards  the  y     .  and  the 
hayloft.     Courage  had  not  failed,  but  sex  assert 
itself  ;  so  that  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  be  alone  ana 
weep. 


CHAPTER    VII 


CERTAIN  CURIOUS  DISCOVERIES  ARS  MADE 

Cherry  was  out  of  the  hay  by  break  of  day,  and  upon 
the  road  soon  after  sunrise.  Martm  rose  some  houra 
later  and,  when  informed  by  the  landlady  that  his 
comrade  had  departed,  merely  rephed,  "  I  am  glad  to 
be  rid  of  the  peevish  fellow."  Then  he  paid  the  reckon- 
ing, mounted  his  horse,  and  set  off  for  Bezurrel ; 
arriving  there  about  midday. 

Sir  Thomas  and  David  were  walking  in  the  park, 
and  Martin  went  towards  them,  after  giving  his  horee 
into  the  charge  of  a  groom.    His  father  looked  some- 
what excited;  yet  his   voice  was  angry  when   he 
spoke  : 
"  So  you  and  Peter  have  fallen  out  again." 
"  I  see  the  fellow  has  been  here,"  muttered  the 
younger  son. 
"  He  went  an  hour  ago." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  all  that  passed  between  us,  sir  ?  " 
"  Young  Clabar  has  no  secrets  from  me  ;  not  one, 
thank  God  !    Why  did  you  insult  him,  Martin  ?  " 
"  I  believe,  sir,  he  told  you  the  reason." 
'•  Nothing  could  excuse  the  word  you  threw  at  him. 
I  am  exceedingly  vexed  with  you,  Martin.     You  I  re- 
garded as  a  young  gentleman  clean  in  tongue ;   yet, 
had  you  been  brought  up  in  the  kennels,  you  could  not 
have  uttered  a  taunt  more  ill-bred,    Peter  is  as  dear  to 
me  as  my  two  sons  ;  nay,  even  dearer." 

"  You  will  permit  me,  sir,  to  express  surprise  at  what 
you  say,"  said  David,  reddening. 

2IO 


CERTAIN   CURIOUS  DISCOVERIES     aix 

"  Have  you  more  to  say.  David  ?  " 

"Why.  sir,  a  great  change  has  come  over  your 
manneT  s.*nce  Peter's  visit." 

"  Say  all  that  is  in  your  mind." 

"  You  go  to  my  mother,  sir,  and  when  you  both  come 
out,  I  can  see  you  are  agitated,  while  my  mother  has 
been  weeping.' 

"  Not  all  tears  of  sorrow,  David." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,  sir." 

"  I  trust,  sir,  I  was  not  the  cause,"  said  Martin. 

"  I  spoke  hastily  just  now,"  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  It 
used  to  be  my  boast  that  I  could  control  my  tongue  and 
restrain  emotion  ;  but  I  must  hold  to  that  no  longer. 
Great  news,  whether  of  joy  or  sorrow,  will  change  a 
man  despite  himself.  I  forgive  you.  Martm— have  I 
not  myself  been  made  to  smart  by  Pfeter's  nimble  wit  ? 
But  I  charge  you  both  not  to  offend  him." 

"  Neither  Martin  nor  I,  sir,  can  understand  why  you 
treat  this  young  fellow  as  our  equal,"  ventured  the 

elder  son.  . 

"  You  have  made  him  your  fnend,  David. 
"  I  have  a  liking  for  him.    We  feel  ourselves  draw 

towards  him "  .        /      .. 

"  Nature  may  explain  much  to  you  hereafter,    si    . 
Sir  Thomas  in  his  brooding  manner.    "  The  name  t 
Clabar  contains  the  record  of  an  old  and  honourea 
famUy." 

"  Of  yeomen,  sir." 

"  Ay,  of  yeomen.  How  would  this  kingdom  stand 
without  its  yeomen  ?  Remember,  my  sons  !^^  If  either 
offends  young  Peter,  he  must  face  my  anger." 

Sir  Thomas  went  away  into  the  house  and  entered 
his  wife's  boudoir.    Lady  Just  was  seated  at  her  escre 
toire.  scanning  a  number  of  old  diaries.  ^^ 

"  Have  you  made  any  fresh  discovery,  Manuela  ? 
he  asked. 

"  Here  is  a  note  of  all  the  dates.    They  coincide 

exactly."  she  answered. 


3za 


MOYLE  CHURCH  TOWN 


The  hand  of  God  is  here."  said  Sir  Thomas  rever- 
ently. "  I  deserve  to  be  punished  for  my  ill  thoughts 
of  Ruth— poor  girl.  We  papists  are  apt  to  believe  that 
heaven  may  only  be  reached  along  our  narrow  way. 
Ruth  is  the  instrument  which  God  has  used  to  make 
this  story  clear." 

"  Shall  yo-^  not  end  it  now  ?  Do  so,  I  beg  of  you," 
said  my  I'.dy  sraaestiy.  "  You  do  not  fear  that  meagre 
Grambla  ?  "  she  add(  ri. 

"  I  ar,  assured  oi  his  hatred  for  me.  He  is  con- 
vinced I  b-'v.  riactised  enchantments  upon  him— and 
I  shall  do  so  again.  At  the  present  I  shall  not  place  a 
weapon  m  his  hand  ;  for  though  I  do  not  fear  his  tongue 
nor  any  of  his  claims.  I  fear  his  deeds.  Yet  I  perceive 
his  faculties  decay.  His  mind  becomes  clouded  by 
luxury;  but  his  nature  remains  the  same.  If  he  could 
know  what  we  have  this  day  discovered,  he  would  be 
aroused  from  his  stupor— with  a  desire  to  inflict  ven- 
geance upon  me— and  set  his  dark  wits  to  work.  Then 
Cherry  might  disappear,  or  be  found  lying  dead  in  the 
woods.  I  do  not  open  my  mouth  until  Grambla  is 
rumed.  I  desire  also  to  watch  the  conduct  of  our  sons. 
As  for  Ruth,  we  know  she  will  enable  us  to  find  her, 
now  that  we  hold  her  fortune  in  our  hands.  The  girl 
has  done  well  indeed  !  " 

In  the  meantime  David  and  Martin  were  talking  in 
the  park. 

"  Brother."  said  David,  "  I  shall  soon  believe  these 
folks  of  Moyle  who  declare  our  father  practises  the 
black  arts." 

"  That  I  could  never  believe,"  replied  Martin.  "  A 
wizard  would  find  it  more  profitable  to  write  upon  his 
art  than  to  practise  it ;  and,  as  there  is  no  literature 
upon  witchcraft,  I  conceive  the  thing  itself  does  not 
exist." 

"  Why,  you  fool,  all  the  world  believes  in  witch- 
craft." 

"  Only  the  world  of  fools  accepts  it ;  and  as  I  do  not 


C:"RTAIN   CURIOUS  DISCOVERIES     213 

I  cannot  be  a  fool.  Mother  Gothal  will  swear  she  can 
bewitch  men  and  women  ;  but  ask  her  to  mutter  the 
spell  to  you,  and  she  is  done." 

"  I  am  certain  my  father  knows  the  future.  He 
could  tell  us — if  he  would — the  whole  f ortime  of  yovmg 
Peter." 

"  What  has  happened  this  morning  ?  "  asked  Mar- 
tin. 

"  Peter  rode  up,  saw  me  in  the  distance,  and  waved 
his  hand  ;  went  to  our  father,  and  presently  they  both 
proceed  to  our  mother's  boudoir.  I  watched  them  from 
the  gallery,  and  father  was  holding  Peter's  arm,  smiUng 
over  him  like  a  lover — I  could  have  beat  the  fellow." 

"  Ruth  gave  him  some  trifle  to  carry  to  our  mother." 

"  I  believe  we  shall  find  that  Ruth  and  Peter  are 
somehow  related." 

"  He  was  vexed  to  part  with  Ruth." 

"  He  has  made  love  to  her,  I  warrant.  She  was  a 
cunning  wench.  She  feigned  rehgion  so  that  she  might 
walk  in  the  woods  with  Peter." 

"  If  he  loved  the  maid,  why  did  he  not  challenge  the 
rascal  who  ran  with  her  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  coward,"  said  David. 

"  Peter  a  coward  !  "  cried  Martin. 

"  And  bully  too.  Show  him  fight  and  he  flutters  like 
a  maid." 

"  Like  a  maid,"  repeated  Martin. 

"  He  is  full  of  unmanly  ways  in  spite  of  his  strength. 
This  morning,  when  he  passed  with  my  father,  he  held 
his  head  to  one  side  and  blushed.  When  he  waved  his 
hand  to  me,  'twas  what  I  might  have  called  a  feminine 
motion." 

"  A  feminine  motion,"  Martin  murmured. 

"  I  cannot  find  a  better  word.  What  ails  you, 
brother  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  word,"  said  Martin  hoarsely.  "  Brother, 
all  the  night  I  was  trying  to  find  the  word  which  could 
explain  Peter's  conduct ;  and  now  you  have  put  it  in 


!^ 


ffij 


I ! 


mm 


'm 


Hi 


■imMi 


2Z4 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


my  mouth.  We  cotild  not  be  accommodated  with  more 
than  one  room,  and  he  refused  to  share  it  with  me.  It 
made  me  mad  to  think  my  presence  was  offensive  to  a 
low-bom  fellow  ;  so,  in  a  fit  of  temper  I  insulted  him. 
Why  did  I  not  think  of  that  word  feminine  ?  " 

"  It  explains  nothing,"  said  David. 

"  Brother,  is  Peter  a  man  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  are  dreaming — I  know  you  talk  like  a 
fool.  To  be  sure  he  is  a  man  ;  but  I  allow  the  rogue 
has  some  plaguy  wench-like  ways." 

"  Have  you  seen  his  arm  ?  " 

"  Ay,  many  a  time." 

"  Have  you  seen  his  bare  arm  ?  Above  the  wrist  his 
sldn  is  white  as  milk." 

"  The  fellow  is  a  coxcomb  ;  he  uses  cosmetics.  You 
can  make  him  blush — again  like  a  maid — if  you  tell  him 
a  story  of  the  town." 

"  Ay,  like  a  maid,"  repeated  Martin.  "  Have  you 
seen  him  wince  at  the  prick  of  a  bramble  ?  " 

"  He  tore  his  hand  once  when  I  was  with  him.  I  saw 
his  blood." 

"  How  did  you  act,  brother  ?  " 

"  What  is  that  to  you  ?  " 

"  Np"  tell  me." 

" ;  -ne  for  an  idiot,  but  I  asked  him  leave  to 

bind  c        .iimd,"  said  David  savagely. 

"  Dia  he  consent  ?  " 

"  He  laughed  at  me." 

"  Ay,  I  know  his  way.  If  another  man  laughed  at 
you  in  the  same  fashion,  you  would  have  beaten 
him." 

"  I  would  not  have  called  him  a  bastard.  Had  I 
been  with  ^">u  last  night,  I  should  have  made  you  sorry 
for  your  t>o*.iper." 

"  You  feel  a  great  interest  in  Peter  ?  " 

"  By  heaven,  I  like  the  fellow.  And  the  more  he 
taunts  me,  the  better  I  like  him — ^yet  I  know  he  is  a 
coward."  v^ 


CERTAIN   CURIOUS   DISCOVERIES     215 

"  You  like  him  because  he  is  handsome.  When  he 
looks  at  you  with  his  big  grey  eyes,  and  smiles  even 
while  he  mocks  you,  I  believe  you  are  saying  to  your- 
self, '  I  love  the  fellow.'  When  did  the  word  feminine 
first  occur  to  you,  brother  ?  " 

"  I  found  it  upon  my  tongue  and  spoke  it.  But, 
look  you,  Martin,  this  is  the  greatest  nonsense.  It  is 
true  Peter  can  look  Uke  a  maid,  and  act  like  one — 'tis 
a  trick  only,  and  he  would  do  well  to  get  rid  of  it.  We 
have  seen  young  men  at  Oxford  as  handsome." 

"  Not  with  his  eyes  and  such  fine  hair." 

"  Are  you  bewitched  by  a  man's  grey  eyes  ?  " 

scoffed  David. 

"  Were  you  bewitched  by  Peter's  bleeding  hand  ? 

"  'Twas  his  plaguy  mouth  that  did  it.  I  tell  you, 
Martin,  it  is  not  possible  that  Peter  should  be  a  maid, 
for  he  is  stronger  than  many  a  man  about  here.  I  be- 
lieve he  could  beat  you  ;  and,  if  he  showed  courage,  I 
should  have  to  do  my  best  to  beat  him." 

"  My  father  knows  everything.  I  have  a  mind  to  ask 
him,"  said  Martin. 

"  You  will  get  no  answer  unless  he  is  in  the  mood  to 

give  it." 

"  Come  with  me  to  Poldrifty,  and  let  us  question  tb^ 
old  witch.  She  is  in  the  company  of  my  father  every 
week,  and  knows  all  his  secrets.  Besides,  she  nursed 
Peter  as  an  infant." 

"  I  am  with  you,  brother  ;  but  Mother  Gotha?  has  no 
cause  to  love  us,  for  we  played  many  a  prank  upon  her 
in  our  younger  days." 

"  We  will  buy  her  secrets.  She  is  nothing  more  than 
a  foolish  old  woman  who  will  blab  to  any  one.  But 
look  you,  David,  if  Peter  is  a  maid,  I  go  this  evening  to 
Bezurrel  Woods,"  said  Martin  warmly. 

"  To  get  your  head  broke.  Wli  ',  you  fool,  do  you 
suppose  the  heir  to  the  house  of  Just  would  kneel  before 
a  yeoman's  daughter  ?  "  repUed  David,  with  such 
heat  that  the  younger  brother  was  startled  from  his 


J 


2l6 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


dreams.    He  closed  his  lips,  and  they  walked  in  silence 
to  the  house. 

Mother  Gothal  lived  in  the  same  hovel,  continuing  to 
serve  all  who  had  need  of  her.  Jacob  had  not  entirely 
forgotten  his  promises,  so  the  dame  had  now  a  silk 
gown  to  wear  on  Sundays,  and  a  purse  of  money  hidden 
away  among  the  stones.  One  day  Jacob  came  for 
advice  ;  the  next  she  would  carry  his  latest  confession 
to  Bezurrel.  She  owned  two  masters,  serving  each 
with  complete  success,  and  accepting  gifts  from  both  ; 
but  she  remained  true  to  the  house  of  Clabar  and  did 
not  lie  to  Sir  Thomas  Just. 

When  the  brothers  arrived  outside  the  open  door — 
which  appeared  to  communicate  with  the  nether 
regions,  as  smoke  poured  forth  continually — they  hesi- 
tated, hearing  the  muttering  of  voices.  They  called  to 
the  witch,  but  she  did  not  answer ;  and  the  figure  which 
appeared  upon  the  threshold  was  that  of  their  father, 
who  looked  somewhat  amused  to  discover  his  sons  out- 
side that  hovel. 

"  So  you  have  followed  me,"  he  said. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Martin.  "  We  did  not  know  you 
were  here." 

"  Mother  Gothal !  "  caUed  Sir  Thomas.  "  My  sons 
are  arrived,  as  I  warned  you,  to  hear  their  fortunes.  I 
leave  them  to  you."  Then  he  walked  out,  saying  to 
David,  who  stood  nearest,  "  Find  me  presently  at  the 
foot  of  the  downs,  beside  the  road  to  Moyle.  We  wioi 
walk  together." 

He  went  down  the  track,  and  immediately  Mother 
Gothal  appeared,  to  welcome  the  visitors  in  her  usual 
fulsome  manner,  and  to  assure  them  they  were  the 
finest  yoimg  gentlemen  in  the  world  with  one  exception 
only.  "  And  he  be  the  young  gentleman  you  ha'  come 
to  me  about,"  said  she. 

"  Who  told  you  so  ?  "  ;sked  David,  who  was  not  at 
his  ease  before  this  woman  with  a  beard. 

"  I  knows  everything,"  replied  the  witch.    "  I  was 


CERTAIN   CURIOUS   DISCOVERIES      217 

sitting  under  the  stars  last  night,  watching  the  sparks 
blowing  Lorn  the  fire,  and  I  says  to  myself, '  the  young 
gentlemen  of  Bezurrel  ain't  been  to  me  yet,  but  they'll 
come  to-morrow.'  Now.  young  gentlemen,  you  pitch 
upon  they  two  stones,  and  I'll  tell  ye  what  be  agoing  to 
happen." 
"  We  have  not  come  to  hear  our  fortunes,"  said 

Martin. 

"  So  you  says,  but  if  you  thinks  a  bit,  and  looks  into 
your  heart,  you'll  find  I  be  right  as  ever.  Young  folk 
always  craves  to  know  the  future.  You  are  both  to  go 
upon  a  long  journey,"  cried  Mother  Gothal.  "  You 
will  cross  the  sea,  and  you  will  come  safe  home  again. 
But  before  you  make  the  journey  there  will  be  trouble 
between  ye." 

"  Yo  '  talk  like  any  gipsy.  We  can  hear  this  stuff 
for  a  shilling  on  the  road,"  said  Martin. 

"  Young  gentlemen,  if  you  hain't  careful,  you  will 
bring  trouble  on  your  family.  I  see  a  picture  in  the  air 
— ^what  you  can't  see — and  'tis  the  sign  of  hatred  and 
quarrels,  ay,  and  of  sudden  death." 

"  That  will  do,  mother,"  said  David.  "  Neither  my 
brother  nor  myself  have  any  desire  to  play  the  highway- 
man. Come  out  of  yc  c  raving,  and  listen  to  our  ques- 
tion?.   Here  is  a  guinea  for  you." 

"  I  thank  ye  sir,"  said  the  practical  Mother  Gothal. 
"  You  wants  .      sk  me  questions  about  the  storm." 

"  What  storm  .  "  asked  Martin. 

"  The  great  storm,  years  ago.  There  be  black  and 
tearing  tempests  every  faU,  but  there  never  was  such 
a  storm  as  that,  and  there  never  will  be  such  another 
while  the  world  lasts." 

"  Mother,  we  have  come  to  ask  you  a  few  simple 
questions,"  said  Martin.  "  Is  Peter  the  son  of  John 
Clabar  ?  And — answer  this  question  first — ^is  Peter  all 
that  he  pretends  to  be  ?  " 

"  It  puts  a  witch  body  about  to  hear  a  young 
gentleman  from   Oxford   ask  questions,"   said   the 


3lC 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


ingenious  Mother  Gothal.  "  I  brought  Master  Peter 
into  this  artful  world ;  and  if  it  wam't  for  me  he 
would  never  be  living  now.  Aw,  I  was  a  fine  woman 
in  them  days." 

"  You  are  not  answering  the  questions.  Is  Peter  a 
man  like  my  brother  and  myself  ?  " 

"  No,  my  young  Oxford  learned  gentlemen,  saving 
your  presence,  he  hain't.  There  never  ,/as  such  a 
young  gentleman  as  Master  Peter,  and  there  never  will 
be  <:uch  another  while  the  world  lasts." 

"  Will  yo"  swear  there  is  nothing  feminine  in  his 
nature  ?  "  asked  Martin,  who  shrank  from  putting  the 
question  more  directly. 

"  They  says  the  sun  be  him,"  said  Mother  Gothal 
darkly,  "  yet  he  be  as  fickle  wi'  his  favours  as  a  woman. 
And  they  says  the  moon  be  her ;  but  there  be  nought  in 
the  moon  save  a  peevish  old  gentleman  and  his  nasty 
little  dog.  I  be  a  she  for  certain,  yet  I  erows  a 
beard." 

"  Cannot  you  answer  with  yes  or  no  ?  "  cried  David. 

"  Witches  be  inspired,  and  they  must  answer  wi'  the 
words  they  find  in  their  mouths.  'Tis  only  plain  folk, 
who  bain't  inspired,  what  answers  wi'  yes  and  no." 

"  Then  tell  us  of  the  storm  in  as  few  inspired  words 
as  possi^  le,"  said  Martin. 

Thereupon  Mother  Gothal  went  off  into  history; 
coming  at  last  to  the  vital  incidents  : 

"  And  as  the  storm  began,  Uttle  Peter  wat  bom  in 
my  cottage,  which  be  all  ruin  now.  And  as  the  storm 
died  down,  another  wreck  was  cast  upon  the  shore,  but 
nobody  knew  the  name  of  that  ship,  for  'twas  the  worst 
of  all  the  wrecks ;  and  there  was  nigh  upon  a  dozen 
while  that  storm  lasted.  The  only  folk  that  come  ahve 
to  shore  was  little  baby  Ruth  and  her  poor  mother. 
Some  says  the  mother  was  drowndcd  avore  cast  up ; 
some  says  she  lived  to  speak  to  Master  Grambla.  He 
took  baby  Ruth — and  he  was  cruel  to  her." 

"  What  happened  to  baby  Pteter  ?  "  asked  Martin. 


CERTAIN   CURIOUS   DISCOVERIES      219 

"  He  was  carriea  out  of  Moyle  and  sent  off  in  the 
public  coach  to  Dock,  and  was  brought  up  there  by 
friends  of  Mistress  Clabar.    Uswerf    f raid  old  Grambla 
would  do  some  mischief  to  the  ch 
"  Why  should  he  hate  the  Clabars  ?  " 
"  He  got  Coinagehall  from  them  by  fraud.    He  was 
always  afraid  of  the  Clabars  trying  to  take  the  place 
away  from  him.    He  turns  Squire  Clabar  out  of  house 
and  work  when  he  hears  Peter  was  coming  back  here. 
They  be  the  last  of  the  Clabars,  and  Grambla  would  get 
rid  of  'em  if  he  could  ;  but  he  am't  got  the  courage  to 
attack  Master  Clabar  now  that  your  father  ha'  took 
him  under  lus  protection  ;  and  he  don't  dare  to  tackle 
Master  Peter.    Grambla  be  in  mortal  terror  of  strong 
men  and  witchcraft.     Yet  he  would  ha'  got  rid  of 
them  in  some  way  if  he  hadn't  got  this  fortune  which 
hi'  made  a  fine  gentleman  of  him  ;   though  how  he 
come  into  all  this  money  nobody  knows  but  me,  and 
I  ain't  aUowed  to  tell." 

The  brothers  left  Mother  Gothal  with  their  gumea's 
worth  of  useless  information ;  and  went  to  join  Sir 
Thomas,  who  rose  from  a  rock  when  his  sons  drew 
near ;  then  they  walked  towards  the  sea  with  small 
talk.  The  baronet  had  not  a  word  to  say  concerning 
the  visit  to  Mother  Gothal ;  though  it  was  in  his  mind, 
for  he  glanced  sometimes  at  his  sons  with  searching 
eyes ;  but  he  did  not  speak  seriously  until  they  had 
descended  the  cliff  by  a  steep  pathway,  and  were  over- 
looking a  spit  of  sand  covered  with  fang-shaped  rocks. 
Then  he  turned  towards  his  sons  and  said,  "  Mother 
Gothal  told  you  of  the  storm  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  LTartin. 

"  Her  mind  deals  with  a  few  facts  only.  She  has 
knowledge  in  deception,  not  in  truth,"  Sir  Thomas 
continued 

"That  is  a  warning,  brother,"  whispered  David. 
"  The  old  baggage  lied  to  us." 

"  Out  to  sea  yonder,  where  the  patches  of  foam 


220 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


appear,  are  those  rocks  which  completed  the  destruction 
of  the  vessel.    Do  you  attend  to  me,  David  ?  " 

*'  I  am  lookLxg  and  listening,  sir." 

"  Change  places  with  Martin  ;  for  what  I  am  saying 
chiefly  concerns  my  heir." 

David  obeyed  with  a  glance  at  Martin,  who  looked 
sullen  ;  and  Sir  Thomas  continued  : 

"  By  this  pathway  Grambla,  the  chief  wrecker,  de- 
scended, still  waving,  I  doubt  not,  his  cursed  lantern. 
By  it  he  returned,  carrying  the  child.  Note  well 
what  I  am  saying,  David.  Upon  that  sand  the  poor 
lady  vras  thrown,  missing  the  rocks,  but  not  the  fierce 
hands  of  the  robber— perchance  her  murderer.  Look 
upon  that  picture  with  the  full  force  of  your  imagina- 
tion. I  charge  you,  David,  never  to  forget  this  peaceful 
cove ;  and  should  it  please  God  to  take  me  before  my 
work  is  finished,  continue  it  and  do  not  cease  until 
the  scoundrel  Grambla  is  ruined." 

"  Will  you  not  tell  us,  sir,  aK  that  Ues  behind  this 
tragedy  ?  "  asked  Martin. 

"Not  yet.  You  are  boys,  and  can  wait.  Someday 
you  will  understand  my  present  uilence.  Now  let  us 
return." 

They  climbed  to  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  and  Sir 
Thomas  led  them  along  the  winding  road,  to  the  comer 
where  Ruth  had  met  her  lover,  and  along  by  the  copse, 
and  beside  the  boundary  of  Coinagehall ;  until  the  sons 
wondered  where  he  could  be  taking  them.  At  last  they 
reached  ^he  entrance  of  the  churchyard  and,  passing 
under  the  tottering  lich-gate,  paused  beside  a  sad  heap 
where  a  cankered  rose-bush  stood. 

This  must  be  the  grave  mentioned  by  Mother 
Gothal,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  removing  his  hat  and 
crossing  himself  ;  then  adding,  "  I  know  not  if  it  be 
a  sm  to  make  the  sign  of  our  redemption  in  a  place 
where  Christianity  is  dead." 

"  I  believe,  sir,  Ruth  would  come  to  this  grave  "  said 
David.  j 


CERTAIN  CURIOUS  DISCOVERIES     aai 

"  Mother  Gothal  planted  the  rose-tree  in  memory — 
so  she  told  me — of  the  lonely  lady.  Mark  this  grave 
well,  David  ;  though  it  will  not  be  a  place  of  pilgrimage 
for  you  in  years  to  come.  I  shall  presently  obtain 
permission  to  remove  the  body,  and  give  it  a  more 
honoured  resting-place." 

"  You  knew  the  lady,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  loved  her.  David." 

"  Will  you  not  tell  us  her  name,  sir  ?  "  asked  the 
impatient  Martin. 

"  This  evening,  and  to-morrow  morning,  you  shall 
hear  her  name  mentioned — Elizabeth  Mary.  Her  hus- 
band's name  was  Geoffrey." 

"  Shall  you  not  strive,  sir,  to  discover  Ruth  ?  "  asked 
Martin. 

"  I  shall  strive  my  utmost  to  secure  her  happiness," 
replied  Sir  Thomas. 

They  left  the  churchyard  and  proceeded  to  Bezurrel 
Castle  by  a  private  lane.  A  catafalque  was  set  up  in 
the  chapel,  which  was  being  prepared  for  Vespers  of  the 
Dead,  and  solemn  Requiem  next  morning,  for  the  re- 
pose of  the  souls  of  Elizabeth  Mary,  and  her  husband 
Geoffrey. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


TWO  YOUNG  PEOPLE  TRY  TO  SETTLE  THEIR  DIFFERENCES 
IN  THE  USUAL  MANNER 

Astonished  by  the  manner  of  the  Justs,  although 
ignorant  that  Ruth  had  recalled  the  agitation  of  the 
storm,  Cherry  returned  to  the  cottage  in  the  wood ; 
there  to  find  her  father  engaged  upon  the  monumental 
work  of  copying  the  plays  of  Shakespeare.  For  Clabar 
was  still  a  derk,  but  now  he  worked  for  his  daughter, 
giving  her  a  library  of  manuscripts  which  he  copied 
from  the  folios  of  Bezurrel. 

"  Wipe  your  pen,"  said  Cherry,  when  she  had  told  of 
her  adventures.  "  This  is  a  holiday,  and  we  will  spend 
it  on  a  bank  of  periwinkle." 

"  I  have  finished  the  tragedies,"  said  Clabar,  "  with 
the  exception  of  '  Titus  Andronicus,'  which  yo  . 
desired  me  to  omit." 

"  Too  cruel,"  she  said.    "  'Tis  drama  without  Go'^  " 

"  No  cruelty  is  impossible  to  man." 

"  Heaven  always  intervenes.  You  shall  spend 
summer  at  the  comedies,  father ;  and  they  will  wipe 
the  wrinkles  off  your  forehead.  Pray  copy  '  Love's 
Labour's  Lost '  the  first  of  all ;  for  that  is  a  story  of 
Bezurrel  Woods.  I  see  the  laughing  king  and  his  fan- 
tastic courtiers  walking  in  our  atmosphere  in  love  with 
words.  'Tis  a  story  false  to  life,  yet  true  to  human 
nature." 

"  I  have  this  morning  commenced  the  '  Tempest.'  " 

"  That  is  another  of  our  stories.  You  are  right, 
father.    We  will  have  the  '  Tempest '  first." 

Presently  they  went  out  and  sat  upon  a  shady  bank 

222 


TWO   YOUNG   PEOPLE 


333 


sUired  with  the  flowers  of  happy  memory,  for  peri- 
winkles in  those  woods  were  white  ;  but  had  not  been 
there  long  when  they  heard  sounds  among  the  trees,  as 
if  sorrow  had  forced  a  pathway  there.  The  lumbering 
shape  of  Toby  Penrice  appeared ;  carrying  in  his  left 
hand  a  great  horseshoe  ;  his  right  arm  embracing  the 
waist  of  a  your^g  woman  whose  solemn  face  was  freckled 
from  brow  to  chin ;  and  the  noise  was  made  by  his 
most  unmanly  sobbing. 

"  Owl  of  ill-omen  in  the  sunshine  I  "  exclaimed 
Cherry.  "  So  Toby  has  found  a  partner.  I  told  you,  if 
he  was  to  win  a  wench,  she  would  be  Creature  Tregoose." 
(There  was  nothing  to  smile  at  in  the  Christian  name, 
which  was  then  by  no  means  uncommon.)  "  Toby  I  " 
she  cried.  "  For  a  strong  fellow  to  weep  is  folly  any- 
where ;  but  in  these  woods  of  Bezurrel  'tis  a  sin." 

"  My  fortune,  gentlemen  '  My  golden  fortune  I  " 
bemoaned  Toby. 

"  I  know  something  of  that,"  said  Clabar.  "  Grambla 
had  the  handling  of  your  fortune  ;  and  now  has  sunk  it 
in  furnishings  and  liveries." 

"  In  the  salt  sea,  master.  He  floats  my  guineas  upon 
the  salt  south  sea,  and  they  go  to  the  bottom." 

"  After  the  manner  of  metal,"  said  Cherry. 

"  I  waited  upon  him  at  his  office,"  Toby  blubbered. 
"  He  would  not  see  me.  I  go  to  Coinagehall,  and  the 
servants  force  me  from  the  door.  This  morning  I 
caught  him  in  the  garden.  I  told  him  the  time  was 
past  when  I  should  receive  a  sum  ;  and  he  took  snuff, 
gentlemen.  He  took  snuff,  and  raised  his  eyes  to 
heaven ;  and  he  si°rhed,  gentlemen ;  and  I  knew  all 
was  not  well." 

' '  That  silent  maimer  is  the  hardest  thing  about 
him,"  Clabar  muttered. 

"  Told  me  he  was  a  broken-hearted  gentleman," 
sobbed  Toby.  "  Stood  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice, 
which  was  a  lie,  gentlemen,  for  he  stood  upon  green 
grasses,  between  two  clipped  shrubs ;   one  a  prickly 


324 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


Adam  in  Lolly,  t'other  a  naughty  Eve  in  box ;  yonder 
was  the  devil  in  yew. 

J'  ?*'''.",  ??*•  '^''^-    The  devU  is  a  gentleman  in 
lace,    cned  Cherry. 

"Desired  me  to  gaze  upon  the  garden  and  the 
servants  ;  to  go  mto  the  house,  if  I  would,  and  regard 
the  nch  furnishings,"  continued  the  weeper.  "  Swore 
nought  was  paid  for.  Said  we  had  stood  together,  and 
now  would  fall  together.  Sink,  gentlemen-sink  was 
his  word. 

''  You  have  no  wit.  Toby.  He  described  himself  as 
a  dram  for  carrying  off  ill-gotten  guineas."  said  Cherry. 
Nay.  young  gentleman.  I  have  a  pretty  good  wit. 
Have  I  not.  Creature  ?  I  understand  a  man  who  tells 
me  I  am  rmned.  I  have  enough  wit  to  know  when 
my  pockets  are  empty." 

"  y°".  lasted  Grambia ;   and  now  he  has  robbed 
you,"  said  Clabar  shortly. 

"  Called  me  a  dog.  Called  me  a  lazy  dog.  Said  if  he 
saw  me  in  the  fields,  or  caught  me  trapping  a  hare,  he'd 
have  the  law  on  me.  What  be  I  to  do  now,  gentlemen  ? 
1  ha  courted  Creature  five  years,  on  and  ofi ;  and  if 
twas  more  off  than  on.  that  was  her  doing.  For  she 
could  never  be  true  to  her  word,  gentlemen." 

I  ha  said  no  a  hundred  times,  and  I  ha'  kept  to  it  " 
declared  the  damsel. 
,      "  You  ha'  said  yes  fifty  times  within  my  living 
memory,  and  never  kept  to  it.    First  time  I  ask  you  I 

f  i!  J  l*"!)""^^  y^^  '■  ^""^  '*  ^'^^  spoke  significant ;  but 
1  had  hardly  got  home  when  your  sister  comes  to  say 
twas  nay  you  meant.  So  I  asked  her,  and  the  baggage 
slapped  my  face.  I  ha'  suffered  all  my  life,  gentlemen, 
irom  a  slapped  face.  You  answer  me  yea  in  spring  and 
autumn  ;  in  April  and  September,  Creature,  for  I  ha' 
took  note  of  it.  You  answer  me  nay  in  summer  and 
wmter.  And  yesterday  you  answer  yea  and  swear  vou 
mean  it."  ^ 

"  Tis  nay  to-day,"  maintained  the  damsel. 


TWO   YOUNG    PEOPLE 


aas 
wit- 


"  Gentlemen,"  cried  Toby.  "  I  would  have  i 
ness  that  Grambla  ha'  not  only  lost  my  fortune,  and 
called  me  a  lazy  dog,  but  now  he  takes  my  wench  as 
well." 

"  I  need  no  ruined  man,"  said  Creature,  stepiAng 
back  from  the  disappointed  lover. 

"  Get  a  boat  and  turn  fisherman,"  advised  Clabar. 
"  You  are  a  strong  fellow,  and  you  have  abused  your 
strength  too  long.  Grambla  speaks  truly  when  he  sajrs 
you  have  been  idle.  You  are  too  great  an  admirer  of 
good  ale." 

"  That  is  not  laziness,"  said  Toby. 

"  You  show  a  particular  attachment  to  one  shirt." 

"I  am  no  gentleman  of  quality,"  replied  Toby. 
"  But  hearken  to  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  something ; 
for,  if  it  be  true  Grambla  and  myself  be  ruined,  I  would 
have  him  sink  faster  than  myself.  He  offered  me  ten 
guineas  if  I  would  enter  the  woods  one  dark  night  and 
bum  your  cottage." 

"  When  was  chis  offer  made  ?  "  asked  Clabar. 

"  Many  months  ago  ;  but  I  had  money  then  and  had 
no  need  to  listen.  So  he  offered  me  the  like  sum.  Master 
Peter,  if  I  would  right  with  you  and  do  you  some  moi  tal 
injury." 

"  Why  did  you  not  fight  me  ?  "  cried  Cherry. 

"  I  looked  at  you,  and  did  not  like  the  task." 

"  What  say  you.  Creature  ?  Could  I  whip  Master 
Toby  ?  "  laughed  Cherry. 

"  You  could  break  every  bone  in  his  body,  I  warrant," 
replied  the  damsel,  enjoying  her  questioner's  face  with 
amorous  eyes. 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  the  horseshoe  ?  "  in- 
quired Clabar. 

"  I  carry  it  for  luck,  master;  God  knows  I  need  it." 

"  So  he  makes  a  horseshoe  his  god  ;  and  carries  it 
with  the  ends  pointing  downward  so  that  his  luck  may 
run  out,"  remarked  Cherry. 

"I  found  it  upon  the  road  outside  this  wood," 


m 


226 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


continued  Toby.  "There is  great  virtue  in  a  cast  horse- 
shoe, gentlemen.  I  got  my  fortune  by  a  horseshoe ; 
and  now,  upon  the  day  I  lose  it,  I  find  another  shoe, 
which  I  shall  carry  home.  I  propose  to  win  you  with 
this  horseshoe.  Creature." 
"  Then  you  must  turn  it  mto  gold,"  she  snapped. 
"  How  came  you  to  win  your  fortune  by  a  horse- 
shoe ?  "  asked  Clabar. 

"  Why,  sir,  indirectly  as  the  saying  is.   The  fortune 
which  I  got  from  my  father  he  obtained  from  his  aunt. 
My  father,  you  must  know,  was  also  a  great  believer  in 
the  virtue  of  cast  horseshoes  ;  and  finding  one  upon  the 
road  he  carried  it  to  his  aunt  whom  he  was  anxious  to 
please.   My  father  desired  to  fasten  the  horseshoe  over 
the  porch  with  his  own  hands,  but  this  the  old  lady 
would  not  permit.    For  she  was  a  superstitious  body, 
and  believed  no  good  fortune  could  proceed  from  the 
horseshoe  unless  she  secured  it  above  the  door  herself. 
She  did  so,  and  mformed  my  father  she  was  so  well 
pleased  with  him  that  she  had  a  mind  to  make  her  will 
in  his  favour ;   and,  to  make  my  story  as  short  as 
possible,  gentlemen,  she  afterwards  informed  him  she 
had  done  so;    adding  that  the  horseshoe  had  un- 
doubtedly brought  her  good  luck,  and  he  might  regard 
himself  as  fortunate  for  having  carried  it  to  her." 
"  A  pretty  story,"  remarked  Cherry. 
"  You  have  heard  only  the  half  of  it,"  said  Toby. 
"  It  so  happened  that  the  old  lady  lost  her  kindness  for 
my  father,  who  was  a  somewhat  wild  lad,  and  a  sad  dog 
for  wenches  ;  in  which  fault,  gentlemen,  I  am  happy  to 
think  I  take  not  after  him.    Several  times  she  warned 
him  that,  if  he  did  not  amend  his  ways,  she  would 
destroy  her  will  and  leave  her  fortune  to  the  curate. 
But  the  old  Adam  in  my  father  did  not  change.    One 
day  he  ill-used  a  wench  who  was  not  kind  to  him  ;  and 
this  news,  being  carried  to  the  old  lady,  put  her  into 
such  a  state  of  indignation  that  she  sent  her  maid  at 
once  for  the  attorney,  declaring  that  she  could  not 


TWO   YOUNG   PEOPLE 


227 


sleep  until  she  had  deprived  my  father  of  his  fortune. 
Indeed,  the  old  body  could  not  stay  in  her  room,  but 
must  go  and  stand  beneath  the  porch  to  look  out  for 
the  attorney.  And  while  standing  there,  gentlemen,  a 
gust  of  wind  passed,  and  the  big  horseshoe,  which  her 
old  fingers  had  not  fastened  up  securely,  became  dis- 
lodged and  fell  upon  her  head  with  such  violence  that 
she  was  stimned  by  it.  To  be  brief,  gentlemen,  the 
shock  was  so  serious  that  she  did  not  recover  conscious- 
ness, but  died  upon  the  day  following,  leaving  her  will 
unaltered.  And  that  is  how  the  horseshoe  brought  my 
fortune.  I  believe  this  shoe,  I  have  just  picked  up,  is 
very  likely  to  bring  me  another." 

"  Your  hands  will  serve  you  better  than  a  piece  of 
iron — ^which  may  fall  upon  you,  as  it  did  upon  your 
ancestress,"  said  Cherry. 

"  So  I  would  tell  him,"  declared  Creature.  "  He 
may  cover  the  walls  of  his  house  with  horseshoes,  but 
I'll  not  live  with  an  idler  and  toil  for  him." 

"  This  horseshoe  brings  me  good  luck  already,"  said 
Toby  with  a  chuckle.  "  It  has  put  me  in  mind  of  an 
old  waistcoat  I  have  at  home.  I  believe  there  are  more 
than  thirty  guineas  concealed  in  the  lining.  I  shall  take 
your  advice.  Master  Clabar  ;  I  shall  get  me  a  boat  and 
go  fishing  ;  sometimes  I  shall  net  a  pheasant  and  trap 
a  hare.  Come,  my  pretty  Creature  1  Let  us  go  and 
discover  these  thirty  guineas.  Say  yes,  and  stay  by  it — 
we  will  live  warmly,  I  promise  you.  I  have  plenty  of 
wit  to  make  a  living.  I  am  not  without  vices,  but  I 
have  no  ambition.  Conversation  I  dislike  ;  knowledge 
I  despise  ;  dress  I  set  at  nought — ^yet  I  admire  women. 
If  I  have  a  weakness,  Creature,  it  is  love  for  thee.  If  I 
have  a  failing,  it  is  that  passion.  Say  yea,  and  mean 
it ;  then  I  weep  no  more." 

The  couple  passed  on  through  the  wood ;  while 
Clabar  and  Cherry  fell  to  talking  of  the  attorney,  who 
had  left  them  unmolested  so  long. 

"  I  perceive  he  is  indolent  through  this  fortune,  which 


i» 


KT 


I 


228  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

came  to  him  no  man  knows  how."  said  Clabar.  "But 
the  time  is  commg  when  he  wiU  agam  attack  us.  bee 
vou,  Cherry,  how  he  has  squandered  the  foohsh  Toby  s 
fortune ;  and  that  he  would  not  do  unless  he  were 
pushed.  He  reaches  the  end  of  his  fortune  ;  he  hsis 
neglected  business  that  he  might  make  himself  a  gentle- 
man. Now  his  resources  are  near  exhausted  he  will 
bite  and  wound."  , 

••  Sir  Thomas  has  promised  me  to  muzzle  lum  j  ana 
when  that  is  done  I  may  put  off  this  disguise,    said 

"Tdo  not  beUeve  Sir  Thomas  can  either  muzzle  him 
protect  us,"  said  the  gloomy  Clabar.  "  Only  one 
^sveT  can  conquer  Grambla.  and  that  is  terror.  He  is 
governed  by  his  superstition." 

"  Red  Cap  may  return."  said  Cherry. 

That  day  was  summer  indeed.  The  next  was  stormy ; 
rain,  hail,  and  blasts  from  the  sea;  but  beautiful 
in  the  evening  when  the  green  tb  ogs  of  the  wood  were 

Cherry  walked  out.  murmuring  to  herself.  "  If  the 
world  were  Uke  these  woods ;  and  the  woods  always 
thus— life  might  then  become  too  sweet." 

And  coming  to  a  place,  which  was  open  yet  shaded  by 
the  trees,  she  found  herself  looking  upon  Martm.  who 
came  towards  her  glancing  from  an  open  book. 

"  Stay  I "  he  called,  when  she  was  about  to  turn 
aside.    "  I  was  on  my  way  to  Halcyon." 

"  Well  1 "  said  Cherry  in  her  most  mascuhne  fashion. 

"  I  desh-ed  to  see  you." 

"  Well !  "  she  said  again, 

"  If  you  bark  at  me  I  shall  soon  be  angry. 

••  Pass,  stranger,"  she  said  carelessly.  "  This  is  one 
way— but  the  longest— to  Halcyon.  You  have  a  nght 
to  walk  here;  I  have  none  to  detam  you.  So  go  your 
way.  and  I  will  go  mine." 

"  Do  you  believe  I  desire  a  conversation  with  your 

father  ?  " 


TWO   YOUNG   PEOPLE 


229 


"  No,  indeed,  for  he  is  an  ^  lest  man,  and  would 
make  ill  company  for  you." 

"  I  came  to  ask  your  pardon,"  he  began. 

"  And  the  words  of  humbleness  stick  in  your  proud 
throat.  I  leave  you  to  rehearse  your  message  to  the  birds." 

"  You  make  me  mad !  "  cried  Martin,  flinging  his 
book  upon  the  ground. 

"  So  you  would  treat  me  as  you  do  literature  ;  but  I 
am  a  book  you  cannot  read  and  shall  not  thumbmark." 

"  I  will  read  you  and  understand  you.  I  will  not  be 
made  sport  of  every  day.  You  have  even  cast  your  in- 
fluence over  my  father,  so  that  he  declares  he  loves  you 
bettei  than  bis  sons.  If  you  know  what  you  are,  tell 
me  ;  and  let  us  be  enemies  or  friends." 

"  You  told  me  my  name,"  said  Cherry  bitterly. 

"  I  was  in  a  rage." 

"  Even  as  you  are  now." 

"  I  came  as  a  friend." 

"  With  right  hand  behind  your  back,  and  the  words 
of  friendship  choking  you.  Why  should  you  desire  to 
be  my  friend  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  question  I  ask  myself." 

"  Am  I  r  '^t  the  son  of  poor  John  Clabar,  and  the 
grandson  of  a  simple  yeoman  who  was  robbed  by 
Grambla  of  his  last  blade  of  grass  ?  " 

"  I  believe  you  are  not." 

"  Pray  then,  tell  me  who  I  am — ^but  not  in  your  own 
coarse  language." 

"  How  should  I  tell  your  history  ?  My  father  does 
not  know  your  name,  but  he  is  sure  you  are  not  Clabar's 
son.  What  is  there  of  the  Clabars  about  you  ?  Your 
father  is  a  swarthy  man  ;  your  mother,  I  am  told,  was 
also  dark.  While  you  are  very  fair ;  your  hair  is 
golden,  and  your  eyes " 

"  I  pray  you  lay  aside  the  poets,"  said  Cherry,  in- 
terrupting him. 

"  So  you  must  still  answer  with  a  taunt.  I  may  not 
even  receive  a  civil  answer  to  my  question." 


41 


I 


aj5  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

"  CiviUty  is  not  obtained  by  insults ''  she  repU^ 
"  You^your  pride  of  birth,  young  gentkman.  beheve 
that  a^or  m^'s  son  must  -.cept  the  blows  you  are 
«wJd  to  rivrhim.  You  ride  with  me  ;  and  expect 
S^o  how'^uHJirrup.  You  do  me  the  honot^of 
XrinK  to  share  a  chamber,  and  you  go  mto  a  rage 
Xureftie.  Why  should  I  humble  myself  to  you. 
whSe  fSrtreats  me  with  the  utmost  deference  ?  ^^ 

•^eU  me  why  I  should  take  notice  of  you  at  all  ? 

"^nifmm^^Jughts  in  my  company;    so  w^ 
should  not  his  younger  ^on  be  flattered  by  it  ?^have 

as  much  learmr^  -dTu^veVoH  r^eTortl 
g^mmeni  an'TS^it  Sn^U  you^t  of  your 
SS  my  shoSd  I  address  the  son  when  I  may 
ZTn^n^i^t^er}  Nay.  I  had  made  up  my  mmd 
n  to^peak  with  you  agam;  for,  if  you  must  ^ve  the 
tmth.  young  man,  I  am  not  much  honoured  by  your 

"*^C^"      n   Peter,  you  shall  not  call  me  young 
„.an!'nors.     -usp^a^tomeinthatb^^^^ 

"  Would  yc-  nave  me  call  you  little  boy  ?    As   or 
the  manner  of  my  speech,  I  must  be  allowed  to  suit 

""^^l"call  you  coward  and  bully.  If  you  were  a  gentle- 
man I  would  challenge  you."  Martm  shouted. 
^^Now  the  young  cock  lifts  his  comb  1  said  Cherry 
in  the  Ime  Luning  manner.  ['  It  is  tr^^ -^ - 
gentleman,  and-since  you  are  m  t^^.  "J«?^  *^3J 
f onfession-I  will  tell  you  also  I  am  not  John  Clabar  s 

"^ '••  I  care  not  whose  son  you  may  be."  fed  Martin  in  a 
rage     "You  have  practised  some  enchantment  upon 

"^'T^TiSig^^^s^nJatf^^^^^  before  his  family. 

Tis  like  you,  Martin."  ^,   .  ^.         _^ ,  „ 

"  You  dare  to  call  me  by  my  Christian  name  I 


TWO   YOUNG   PEOPLE 


231 


"  Ay,  Martin,  a  kind  of  swallow,  a  timid  thing  which 
catches  flies." 

"  I'll  stop  your  mouth,"  he  shouted ;  and  running 
forward  he  struck  his  open  hand  upon  her  scornful 
lips. 

Cherry  cried  out,  as  shame  and  anger  forced  the  blood 
into  her  cheeks  ;  and  for  a  moment  she  coidd  hardly  see 
the  white  and  angry  face  before  her.  Then  she  said 
quietly,  "  Martin,  I  shall  plague  you  for  that  blow.  If 
not  to-day " 

"  Take  off  your  coat,"  the  young  man  shouted. 
"  Show  me  the  strength  you  boast  of.  You  have  bullied 
me  ever  since  I  knew  you ;  now  you  would  play  the 
coward  and  run.  But  you  shall  not  go  until  you  have 
kissed  my  shoes." 

"  I  will  not  take  off  my  coat,"  said  Che  ry.  "  Re- 
move yours,  child,  and  then  we  may  stand  equal." 

He  struck  out  again  in  the  same  blind  fashion,  and 
Cherry  had  difficulty  to  ward  off  the  blow  ;  for  the  sun 
was  in  her  eyes.  So  she  ran  to  the  other  side  ;  and, 
when  Martin  pursued,  she  rounded  upon  him,  evaded 
his  arms,  and  found  his  ear  with  a  small  brown  fist 
that  set  bells  ringing  in  his  head. 

Then  they  fought  in  earnest,  while  the  flowers  looked 
on,  and  birds  made  sleepy  music  ;  with  this  difference 
between  them  that,  whereas  Martin  scarce  knew  what 
he  was  doing,  Cherry  remained  calm  and  almost  cold  ; 
and  this  gave  her  some  advantage  over  him. 

Surprise  sobered  Martin  when  he  discovered  his  op- 
ponent's strength  was  far  less  than  he  had  looked  for. 
Young  Peter,  he  perceived,  had  by  far  the  greater  skill 
— and  of  that  he  had  proof,  being  knocked  down  twice, 
once  by  a  cut  upon  the  jaw,  again  by  a  body-blow  and 
slip  together — but  power  behind  was  wanting.  Martin, 
though  slight,  was  heavier  and  much  the  taller ;  but, 
never  having  been  taught  how  to  use  his  hands,  he 
wasted  his  superior  strength  upon  the  air ;  ?nd,  being 
in  a  rage,  he  played  for  victory  wildly ;  until  his  vision 


I 


333 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


cleared,  and  he  saw  those  calm  grey  eyes  looking  upon 
him  neither  in  mockery  nor  in  anger. 

"  Your  Ups  move  I    You  mutter  a  spell,"  he  cned. 

"  I  believe  you  are  beaten,"  she  gasped. 

"  After  to-day  you  will  not  bully  me." 

"  After  to-day  I  can  do  with  you  as  I  will." 

"  By  sorcery  then !  "  he  sLouted,  closing  his  eyes. 

"  I  have  a  power  of  which  you  know  nothmg— 
though  you  feel  it." 

"  There  is  blood  upon  your  face.  Let  us  end  it, 
Pfeter  1  " 

"  Not  until  you  go  down  and  kiss  my  shoes. 

Neither  appeared  to  have  an  advantage,  although 
Martin  was  unmarked  save  for  an  angry  ear ;  while 
Cherry  was  bleeding  at  the  nose,  her  upper  lip  was  cut, 
and  her  left  eye  swollen  ;  but  she  was  strong  upon  her 
feet,  and  Martm  was  shaken  by  his  falls.  Their  long 
coats  hampered  both  ;  the  turf  grew  slippery ;  it  looked 
as  if  darkness  must  put  a  stop  to  the  unnatural  combat. 

Cherry  felt  that,  so  she  pressed  forward  and,  after  a 
clever  feint,  struck  Martin  so  hard  upon  the  jaw  that  he 
reeled  back ;  yet,  in  doing  so,  he  hit  out  wildly,  more 
in  self-defence  than  in  aggression  ;  but  his  fist  struck 
full  upon  her  breast. 

They  were  apart.  Martin,  leaning  against  a  tree,  his 
head  dizzy,  looked  up  in  some  terror  for  his  opponent, 
knowing  he  could  not  last  another  blow  upon  the  jaw. 
He  saw  young  Peter  crossing  the  open  space  with  a 
staggering  motion  ;  he  heard  a  moaning  ;  and,  half  in 
pity,  half  in  shame,  moved  forward  with  an  outstretched 
hand,  saying,  "  Pe^-^r  !  pardon  me.  Confess  you  went 
too  far.    Whatistlus?    I  have  not  hurt  you." 

"  My  heart !  "  she  gasped. 

"  A  little  blow  upon  the  chest — I  did  no  more  than 
force  you  from  me.  It  could  not  have  hurt  a  boy. 
Peter,  what  makes  you  so  white  ?    What  ails  you  ?  " 

Even  as  he  spoke  Cherry,  in  her  effort  to  escape,  fell 
upon  the  grass  and  fainted. 


TWO   YOUNG   PEOPLE 


333 


"  Peter,  what  have  I  done  to  you  ?  "  cried  Martin 
bitterly,  as  he  went  upon  his  knees.  "  Speak  to  me. 
Peter  1  That  little  blow — it  would  hardly  have  crushed 
a  fly.  Let  me  unfasten  your  coat.  Yoiur  neckband  is 
too  tight.  Ah,  dear  Peter,  I  have  made  you  bleed." 

He  wiped  her  face  with  his  handkerchief,  and  restored 
it  stained  to  his  deep  pocket ;  then  with  trembling 
fingers  unfastened  the  coat  and  neckband,  muttering 
in  a  frightened  voice  : 

"  That  word  of  David's  1  How  beautiful  he  is  !  Had 
ever  a  young  man  such  a  mouth — and  these  long  eye- 
lashes— and  a  skin  so  white  !  " 

Scarce  a  minute  had  passed,  yet  Martin  was  running 
wildly  through  the  wood.  He  reached  Halcyon,  and 
broke  upon  peaceful  John  Clabar  at  his  scribbling  toil 
upon  the  "  Tempest."  He  started  up  to  meet  the 
young  man,  who  could  only  point  and  mutter,  "  Come 
with  me  1    Come  and  bring  restoratives  !  " 

"  Is  my  son  hurt  ?  "  cried  Clabar. 

"  Follow  I  "  Martin  whispered ;  and  all  his  other 
words  were  iwcoherent. 

Taking  a  little  cordial  from  &  cupboard,  fclabar  ran 
with  Martin,  supposing  Cherry  had  been  bitten  by  a 
viper.  They  came  to  the  clearing  as  darkness  settled 
upon  the  wood ;  but  Martin  hardly  dared  to  set  foot 
upon  that  turi. 

Cherry,  having  partly  recovered,  lifted  her  body 
upon  an  elbow  to  murmur,  "  Father,  I  grow  weary  of 
this  game,"  as  he  hurried  forward  and  pressed  the 
cordial  to  her  lips.  While  Martin  stood  apart,  shivering 
like  a  leaf,  trying  to  distinguish  the  blood-stained  face, 
the  cut  lip,  the  swollen  eye — his  doing — until  he  could 
restrain  himself  no  longer,  and  came  forward  with  a 
cry,  "  Peter  1  " — ^the  masculine  name  which  repre- 
sented all  that  was  feminine  to  him. 

"  Young  gentleman,"  said  Clabar  sternly.  "  You 
have  done  mischief  enough.    Leave  us  !  " 


II 

'if 


CHAPTER  IX 

MARTIN  IS  EXPELLED  FROM  THE  WOODLANDS 

Roughly  hewn  statues  in  Cornish  porphyry  looked 
somewhat  terrible  in  the  shadows  of  the  long  room 
which  faced  upon  the  sea.  Here  Sir  Thomas  was  wont 
to  spend  much  time  callmg  gods  and  heroes  out  of 
stone  ;  and  here,  it  was  rumoured  in  the  distnct.  he 
called  up  spirits  and  sent  them  into  the  shap^  of  tas 
creation  which  thereupon  took  We  and  moved  to  do 
his  bidding.  He  stood  there  with  David,  bendmg  over 
a  veined  and  speckled  Cupid,  showing  his  son  hew  to 
turn  the  chisel  to  avoid  a  flaw;  end  usmg  the 
occasion  to  give  advice :  ,      ,  •    ,  • 

"The  gentleman,  who  cannot  employ  his  leisure 
upon  some  art.  is  little  better  than  one  of  these  stone 
figures.  I  would  have  you  copy  my  example.  Da^d. 
If  sculpture  does  not  please  you,  learn  to  play  the 
fiddle;  or  even  turn  to  carpentry.  For  an  idle  gentie- 
man  is  apt  to  become  sottish  in  hie  manners.      ^^ 

"  This  Cupid's  face."  the  young  man  muttered,  is 
surely  modelled  from  the  features  of  young  Clabar. 

"  Could  you  find  a  better  type  ?  " 

"  I  believe  not,  sir.   There  is  nothing  of  the  common 

in  his  features."  ,  ,  ,.    x 

"  Now  the  work  requires  a  touch  yet  more  delicate. 
Look  ye,  David !  A  slip  at  this  Une  of  the  neck,  and 
all  is  marred.   It  grows  dark.   Light  candles." 

Sk  Thomas  retired  to  the  far  end  of  the  room  for 
a  finer  chisel;  passing  between  the  statues  which 
seemed  to  become  more  life-Uke  by  his  movements. 
The  door  burst  open  and  Martm  hurried  in. 

234 


MARTIN   IS   EXPELLED 


235 


"  David  I  "  he  cried.  "  Where  is  our  father  ?  Oh, 
David,  I  have  fought  with  Pfeter  I  I  hurt  her— I  have 
cut  her  mouth,  and  bruised  her  eye." 

"  Her ! "  cried  David,  forgetting  the  nearness  of 
their  father. 

"  You  are  right,  brother.  Feminine  Was  your  word. 
She  is  beautiful — she  is  adorable — ^and  I  have  done 
my  best  to  kill  her." 

"  She  is  a  maid — Peter  a  maid  !  "  David  muttered. 
Then  he  rounded  upon  Martin  and  cried,  "  You  fought 
with  her !  You  struck  her  upon  the  eyes  and  mouth 
— ^you  have  done  her  some  injury.  You  are  a  scoundrel, 
brother." 

"  I  could  not  bear  her  taunts." 

"  You  shall  settle  with  me,"  cried  David ;  and, 
starting  forward,  he  seized  his  brother  by  the  throat. 

"  David  1  Martin  I  "  called  a  voice,  terribly  stem  ; 
then  Sir  Thomas  advanced  towards  them  along  the 
avenue  of  sombre  statuary.  The  young  men  parted 
and  stood  at  some  distance  from  each  other ;  David 
scowling,  Martin  shivering. 

"  I  heard  you,  Martin.  You  have  disgraced  my 
name,  and  your  own  young  manhood,  by  stri^ng  Cherry 
Clabar — ^for  so  she  is  called — in  spite  of  what  I  told 
you  yesterday.  When  was  it,  sir,  you  learnt  to  defy 
your  father  ?  " 

"  Your  command,  sir,  never  came  into  my  mind," 
whispered  the  unhappy  Martin.  "  I  went  into  the 
woods,  hoping  to  find  Peter,  that  I  might  ask  her 
pardon.  We  met  by  chance  ;  she  was  more  than  usual 
bitter,  and  I  struck  her.  I  seem  to  have  been  dreaming 
and  am  just  awake.  She  fell  at  last  and  fainted.  She 
cried  out,  •  My  heart ! '    I  pray  you,  sir,  forgive  me." 

"  Did  you  strike  him,  David  ?  "  asked  Sir  Thomas. 

"  I  would  have  struck  him  for  a  coward,  sir,  had  you 
not  joined  us." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so ;  for  I  would  have 
you  prot«c^  the  honour— and  when  necessary  the  body 


236 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


—of  this  young  lady.  As  foi  you.  ICartin.  I  shall  treat 
you  as  a  child  who  has  refused  obedience.  Get  you  to 
your  bedroom,  and  there  remam  until  I  visit  you. 
David,  attend  m«." 

Martin  slunk  away,  while  the  others  left  the  house, 
and  were  absent  an  hour.  As  they  returned  along  the 
avenue.  Sir  Thomas  placed  a  hand  upon  David's  arm 
and  inquired  what  he  thought  of  the  fan-  Miss  Clabar. 

"  She  has  not  her  equal  in  the  world,  sir.  Some 
girls  are  strong,  and  many  are  beautiful ;  but  she 
unites  in  herself  the  perfection  of  strength  and  beauty," 
came  the  answer. 

"  What  are  your  feelings  towards  her,  David  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  answer  you,  sir.  An  hour  ago  I 
thought  she  was  a  man.  I  am  not  yet  reconciled  to 
the  truth.    But,  sir,  I  admire  her  vastly." 

"  When  you  marry,  David,  it  is  my  intention  to 
withdraw  from  England,  and  to  end  my  life  with  your 
mother  in  her  native  land ;  leaving  you  as  master  of 
Bezurrel.  You  have  my  permission,  David,  to  make 
Miss  Cherry  your  wife." 

"  My  wife,  sir  1  The  daughter  of  John  Clabar,  as 
'tis  said  I  "  exclaimed  the  young  man. 

"  I  am  proud  of  my  name,  and  jealous  for  the  honour 
of  my  family.  Yet  I  tell  you  nothing  would  please  me 
more  than  to  greet  Cherry  Clabar  as  the  bride  of  my 
elder  son.  Why  did  you  take  your  brother  by  the 
throat  ?  " 

"  It  seemed  to  me,  sir,  he  had  played  the  part  of 

a  scoundrel." 

"  Was  it  not  Jealousy,  David  ?  " 

"  I  believe  it  was  not,  sir." 

They  entered  the  house  and  Sir  Thomas,  ifter  a 
few  words  with  my  lady,  went  to  Martin's  room  ;  which 
lay  in  darkness,  for  the  summer  night  was  clouded. 

"  Are  you  abed  ?  "  the  father  called. 

"  I  am  here,  sir ;  beside  the  window." 

Sir  Thomas  closed  the  door  and  groped  towards  a 


MARTIN    IS   EXPELLED 


337 


in  the  future  as  the  cus- 
said  Sir  Thomas  sharply. 
She  desired  me  to  inform 


chair,  sayliig,  "  We  need  no  candle  for  a  conversation. 
Your  conduct,  Martin,  has  displeased  me  greatly.  You 
have  shown  a  love  for  learning  which  made  me  dream 
of  a  noble  future.  Now  I  find,  if  you  are  sober  in  life, 
you  are  most  passionate  in  your  nature." 

"  It  is  true,  sir,  I  never  could  control  my  temper 
when  Peter  mocked  me,"  Martin  answered. 

"  Miss  Clabar  is  her  name." 

"  I  shall  always  think  of  her  as  Peter.  I  would  go 
to  her  now,  father,  and — and  kiss  her  shoes,  and  find 
out  how  she  does." 

"  I  come  from  Halcyon,  where  I  presented  your 
brother  to  Miss  Clabar." 

"  David,  sir  I  " 

"  Whom  you  will  regard 
todiaji  of  Bezurrel  Woods,' 
"  Miss  Clabar  is  recovered, 
you — " 

"  Yes.  sir  I  " 

"  She  bears  you  no  malice.  She  promises  to  whip 
you  with  her  tongue." 

"  Let  her  say  what  she  will.  What  was  a  taimt 
yesterday  shall  be  a  compliment  to-morrow." 

"  I  have  more  to  say,"  continued  Sir  Thomas,  rising ; 
and  though  Martin  could  not  see  his  father,  he  was 
conscious  of  the  dark  figxire  towering  over  him ;  and 
he  felt  rebellious  against  discipline. 

"  I  have  referred  to  your  studious  habits.  These 
have  led  me  to  suppose  you  may  have  a  longing  for  the 
priesthood." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir." 

"  I  do  not  mean  a  priest  of  this  land,  where  our  holy 
religion  is  forbidden ;  I  would  not  see  a  son  of  mine  a 
priest  of  dark  comers  such  as  Father  Benedict.  When 
David  marries,  your  mother  and  I  propose  to  retvun 
to  Italy  ;  and  we  would  take  you  with  us,  Martin." 

"  Do  you  insist  upon  my  ordination,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  would  not  permit  that  course  unless  I  were 


338 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


convinced  you  had  a  dear  vocation.  It  appean  I  have 
read  your  nature  wrongly."  .^  „  _^j     ^     , 

"  I  have  no  dewre  for  Italy,"  said  Martin  firmly. 
"  I  would  remain  hene,  sir ;  I  believe  I  am  the  oiUy  one 
of  my  family  who  cares  for  Beiurrel  and  Moyle  church- 
town.  If  I  may  speak  plainly,  sir,  I  would  say  there 
is  something  foreign  in  your  nature.  You  have  Uved 
abroad  so  long,  you  have  little  love  for  this  property  of 
your  ancestors.  You  have  enjoyed  the  Italian  chmate 
until  you  cannot  bear  the  mists  of  ComwaU.  David 
also  has  no  longing  to  remain  here.  But  I  love  this 
wUd  coast,  Bezurrel  Castle,  and  the  fields  around  it ; 
but  most  of  all  I  love  the  woodlands.  A  younger  son 
must  not  expect  to  be  given  his  choice— yet  I  would 
remain  here  all  my  life."  . ,    ^     ,  x.  uu 

"  Bravely  spoken.  Martin,"  said  the  father  with 
more  kindlmess.  "  But  if  you  would  have  me  yield 
to  your  request,  you  must  show  some  inclination  to 
obey.  Bezurrel  is  settled  upon  David,  and  cannot 
pass  to  you  without  his  consent.  Are  you  anxious  to 
please  me,  Martin  ?  " 

"  I  have  always  sought  to  please  you,  my  father ; 
and  I  shall  continue  to  do  so.  while  you  do  not  put  upon 
me  more  than  I  can  bear." 

"  I  will  try  you  then.  You  are  forgiven  your  conduct 
of  to-day  upon  a  certain  understanding." 

"  There  is  but  one  command,  sir,  which  I  shall  find 
myself  unable  to  obey." 

"  You  are  not  again  to  visit  the  young  lady  whom 
we  call  Miss  Clabar." 

"  Sir,  that  is  the  one  thing  impossible." 

"  You  resist  me,  Martin  ?  " 

"  Not    I.   sir.     Something   stronger   than   myself 

"  I  tell  you,  Martin,  my  mind  is  fixed  upon  this 

matter."  ,  .  _^ 

"  You  think,  sir.  that  because  she  has  no  fortune, 
and  is  of  somewhat  mean  birth,  she  is  not  worthy  of 


MARTIN    IS   EXPELLED 


a39 


me.  I  can  understand,  sir.  she  could  not  marry  David  ; 
but  I  am  the  youn«.rer  son." 

"  I  must  clip  your  wings."  said  Sir  Thomas  grimly. 
*•  You  are  not  worthy  of  her." 

"  Peter  of  the  woods— of  the  cottage  I  "  Martin 
murmured. 

"  I  hope  to  see  her  mistress  of  Bezurrel.  and  your 
brother's  wife." 

"  It  is  dark."  cried  Martin  with  difficulty.  "  Why. 
sir.  do  you  make  it  darker  ?  " 

"  I  require  your  submission,  and  demand  your 
obedience.  Remember,  no  father  injures  his  son  with- 
out good  reason.  You  are  to  regard  Bezurrel  Woods 
as  out  of  bounds  ;  and  should  you  meet  Miss  Clabar  by 
chance  in  other  places,  you  are  to  behave  with  the 
civility  of  a  gentleman  who  meets  a  friend — and 
nothing  more." 

"  You  have  spoken  your  last  word,  sir  ?  " 

"  And  I  will  hear  no  answer." 

Sii  Thomas  felt  for  his  son's  hand,  pressed  it  in  a 
kindly  fashion,  then  departed.  Soon  the  lights  went 
out,  and  Bezurrel  Castle  became  wrapped  in  darkness  ; 
but  Martin  sat  beside  that  open  window  half  the  night. 

The  morning  was  heavy  and  wreaths  of  mist  hung 
upon  the  sea.  David  went  out  early,  and  Martin 
watched  him  from  a  window;  to  see  his  brother  go 
towards  the  stable,  and  ride  out  presently  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Great  Gwentor.  Martin  went  into  the  library 
and  read  from  Homer  for  an  hour.  Then  he  looked 
up  aiMl  saw  that  Father  Benedict  was  near  him. 

"  I  have  a  question  to  ask  you."  he  said.  "  How 
many  of  these  books  would  have  been  written,  had 
there  been  no  Helens  m  the  world  ?  " 

"  Many,  my  son,"  replied  the  old  priest,  "  and  all 
the  best.    Helens  do  not  aid  theology,  but  mar  it." 

"  Ah.  but  how  many  of  these  books  would  havfe 
detained  a  young  rnpn  in  a  library  upon  a  summer's 
morning,  had  th^  h^Iot^    ■>  " 


hi 


240 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  That  is  too  hard  a  question,"  said  Father  Benedict. 
Martin  went  into  the  avenue  and  along  it  to  the  gate. 
Without  a  pause  he  took  the  road  to  the  left,  entered 
the  forbidden  woods,  and  proceeded  along  the  well-loved 
footpath  to  the  flaming  garden  and  the  smaU  thatched 
cottage.    A  murmur  of  voices  wanned  his  heart. 

"Father  Benedict  is  wrong,"  he  murmured. 
"  Helens  do  not  mar  theology." 

•'  So  1 "  cried  Cherry,  who  opened  the  door  to  mm. 
"  You  are  come  for  your  whipping." 

"  I  am  come,"  said  Martin,  not  bowing  his  head ; 
since  he  could  not  remove  his  eyes  from  her  face,  which 
was  bright  brown  again,  and  fresher  than  it  l^d  been 
yesterday,  "  to  kneel  at  your  feet  and  beg  for  your 
forgiveness."  .       ,, 

"  I  would  rather  you  stood  upright. 
"  It  is  easier  to  obey  you  than  my  father." 
Cherry  sUpped  out  when  he  had  spoken,  murmunng, 
"  that  tells  a  story,"  and  motioned  him  to  follow. 
They  passed  into  the  woodland,  out  of  sight  of  the  cot, 
beneath  a  natural  archway  of  wild-rose  ;  and  so  to  an 
arbour  of  honeysuckle  where  it  fell  from  a  tree. 

"  I  beg  you  not  to  refer  again  to  the  events  of  y^ter- 
day— yet  I  know  we  are  to  talk  ot  nothing  else,"  she 
began.    "  We  have  both  done  wrong ;   but  I  feared 
you  played  with  me.  That  night  at  the  ale-house  I  was 
sure  you  had  penetrated  my  disguise;    which  you 
must  admit  I  carry  well.    Let  us  have  no  more  fightmg 
—nor  yet  words  together.   I  am  Peter  no  longer  to  you. 
Yesterday  I  was  a  careless  fellow.    Now  I  have  a 
maiden's  soul." 
"  May  I  not  call  you  Peter  still  ? 
"  Why  should  you  call  to  a  phantom  ?  " 
"  I  would  call  to  the  new  soul  by  the  old  name. 
Mistress  Clabar  is  too  hard  for  me.   As  Pteter  I  came  to 
know  you ;  vralked  and  studied  with  you.    As  Peter 
I  see  you  now— with  your  lip  bruised,  your  eye  swollen, 
by  this  cursed  hand." 


MARTIN   IS   EXPELLED 


241 


if 


"  Do  not  curse  your  hand ;  else  you  will  make  me 
blame  my  tongue.    Our  walls  are  over,"  said  Cherry 
firmly.    "  Last  evening  Sir  Thomas  and  your  brother 
came  to  visit  me.   Can  you  explain  your  father's  great 
affection  for  me  ?  " 
"  He  loves  you  with  all  his  soul." 
"  I  believe  that  is  not  possible  ;  but  let  it  pass.    Sir 
Thomas  presents  your  brother,  and  hopes  I  may  show 
him  kindness — and  not  beat  him ;    and  desires  me 
not  to  walk  with  you  again.   Now,  sir,  has  he  not  com- 
manded you  to  keep  away  from  these  woods  ?  " 
"  He  has  done  so,"  said  Martin  with  a  groan. 
"  I  do  not  imderstand  Sir  Thomas.    He  wishes  me 
to  smile  upon  his  heir,  and  to  frown  upon  his  younger 
son.    Have  I  not  always  frowned  upon  you  ?  In  these 
boy's  clothes  I  may  laugh  and  shout ;   but  surely  I 
must  not  smile." 
"  Ah,  Peter ;  how  you  have  changed  !  " 
"  If  you  call  Peter,  you  may  rouse  the  dead." 
"  I  would  like  to  hear  the  old  voice.    Will  you  not 
be  Peter  again  ?  " 
"  Never  1" 

"  Taunt  me,  and  mock  me,  and  call  me  all  manner 
of  names.  I  would  welcome  abuse  if  it  came  from 
you." 

"  Never  again  !  "  she  cried.  "  So  you  too  have 
changed.  How  angry  you  would  get !  And  now 
you  cry  to  suffer  again  I  But  do  I  not  play  the  boy 
prettUy  ?  " 

He  advanced  from  the  arbour,  and  she  shrank  back, 
saying,  "  Nay,  do  not  answer.  Until  I  wear  a  gown  I 
may  be  bold.  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  It  is  no 
small  matter  to  disobey  your  father." 

"  Last  night  I  warned  him  I  should  not  obey.  I  will 
take  ofi  my  fine  coat  and  serve  as  his  footman.  I  will 
demean  myself  in  any  way  to  please  him.  But  when  he 
tells  me  I  am  not  to  visit  Peter,  nor  to  walk  with  Peter, 
I  shall  not  obey." 


LiM 

''M 


\m 


j  \ 


242 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  Has  Peter  then  no  mind  to  be  consulted  ?  " 

"  She  is  with  me  now." 

"  There  is  still  some  doubt  remaining  about  the  sex 
of  Peter,"  she  said  lightly.  "  Let  us  clear  away  this 
difficulty.  Peter  was  a  wild  and  careless  lad— who  yet 
exists  for  all  except  your  family — and  yesterday  he 
was  struck  a  mortal  blow  and  died  a  natural  ckath 
upon  the  grass.  All  the  birds  of  the  woods  sang  a  dirge 
last  night  for  poor  dead  Peter  I  Do  you  propose,  young 
gentleman,  to  visit  a  most  unpleasant  corpse  ?  If  that 
is  your  desire,  I  cannot  tell  you  where  to  find  the  body. 
Your  wise  father  understands  this  difficulty.  '  Young 
Peter  is  dead,'  says  he.  '  My  younger  son  has  killed 
the  rascal,  therefore  'tis  plain  the  two  cannot  meet 
again.'  But  then  it  appears  Peter  was  fashioned  so 
curiously  that,  immediately  he  died,  a  mischievous 
wench  of  a  sister  must  stand  upright  in  his  shoes.  Your 
wise  father  pondered  over  this  also,  and  he  says,  *  I 
believe  my  son  David  may  be  trusted  with  this  wench 
Cherry,  therefore  he  shall  walk  with  her,  if  he  so  wills  ; 
and  I  shall  ask  her  to  be  kind  to  him.  But  my  son 
Martin  must  not  be  permitted  to  go  near  her,  for  his 
own  safety.  The  wench  will  do  him  mischief,  I  warrant, 
to  avenge  that  other  half,  poor  brother  Peter,  whom  my 
son  Martin  maliciously  slew.'  Now,  sir,  have  I  not 
made  this  matter  plain  to  you  ?  " 

"  Cherry  !  "  he  cried,  carried  away  by  her  chann  of 
speech  and  manner. 

"  Oh,  hush  !  "  she  whispered,  placing  a  finger  on  her 
lips.    "  Pray  respect  my  brother's  memory." 

"  David  cannot  be  trusted  with  young  ladies,"  he 
said  shamefully. 

"  You  must  not  speak  so.  Here  is  one,  who  can  not 
only  defend  herself,  but  has  punished  a  drunken  man 
who  beat  his  wife.  But  are  we  not  merely  talking — 
as  if  to  pass  the  time  together  ?  It  is  my  duty  to  see 
that  your  father's  wishes  are  respected.  If  you  disobey 
— that  is  for  you  to  answer.   I  shall  not  be  disobedient 


MARTIN    IS   EXPELLED 


243 


to  my  patron.  Nay,  I  shall  not  let  you  offend  the  kind- 
liest man  that  lives.  I  address  you  now,  Mr.  Martin 
Just,  for  the  last  time  upon  the  old  footing  ;  and  when 
friends  part — ^we  have  been  friends,  I  think — ^they  v/l'l 
speak  as  kindly  as  they  can." 

"  Mistress  Cherry,  I  will  not  submit." 

"  Are  we  not  foolish  when  we  make  that  cry  ?  " 

"  Yes,  when  we  make  it  against  heaven." 

"  They  who  order  our  destiny  represent  to  us  the 
power  of  heaven.  Believe  me  your  father  is  kind, 
though  he  seems  to  work  in  a  mysterious  way.  Friend, 
good-bye  !    'Tis  Peter  speaking." 

She  put  out  her  right  hand,  and  Martin  seized  it,  but 
would  not  let  it  go.  She  smiled,  and  drew  it  free, 
saying,  "  It  is  good  to  fight  a  tyrant,  or  to  resist  any 
evil  which  seems  stronger  than  ourselves  ;  but  some- 
times it  is  bravest  to  submit." 

"  Why  should  friends  part  ?  " 

"  You  may  not  harm  yourself  by  dJ'.obed?ence  ;  but 
you  will  injure  me." 

"  If  my  father  plays  the  tyrant— why  should  he  ?  " 

"  That  is  not  for  me  to  answer." 

"It  is  no  question  of  birth  or  fortune  ;  for  he  is 
willing — anxious — ^that  you  and  David  should  be 
friends.  Let  him  dare  !  He  cannot  be  your  friend- 
not  as  I  am." 

"  Still  you  ignore  me,"  said  Cherry  impatiently. 
"  My  father  says  this  ;  my  father  does  that.  Come  out 
of  the  influence  of  your  father  and  regard  my  feelings  ; 
and  hear  my  voice  in  this  matter.  Friendship  is  a 
contract  to  which  both  parties  must  set  their  hands 
and  seals.    My  signature  is  lacking.' 

"  It  is  an  unwritten  contract,"  urged  Vartin.  "  The 
very  act  of  setting  it  down  in  black  and  white  would 
destroy  the  mutual  trust,  which  is  the  foundation  of 
all  friendship.  You  have  signed  with  your  voice,  and 
sealed  with  your  eyes." 

"  I  repudiate  Peter  with  all  his  forgeries." 


'  'I 


hi 


244  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

"  You  have  given  me  a  bond ;  and  now  would  tear 
it  up  before  my  eyes." 

"We  are  getting  involved  in  metaphor  like  two 
wrangling  attorneys.  Let  us  return  to  simple  speech ; 
and  not  mar  farewell  by  flinging  learning  at  each  other. 
I  am  sorry  to  end  our  walks  and  conversations  ;  I  shall 
think  with  pleasure  of  our  quarrels  ;  but  I  shall  obey 
the  wishes  of  my  patron,  who  has  protected  John  Clabar 
against  his  enemy,  and  provided  us  with  the  happiest 
home,  and  has  given  me  a  place  to  worship  in,  and 
granted  me  the  liberty  of  these  woods.  So  I  bid  you 
farewell,  and  may  God  be  with  you." 

"  You  shall  not  leave  me,"  cried  Martin.  "  I  will 
answer  the  question  I  just  now  put  to  you— why  should 
my  father  play  the  tyrant  ?  It  is  because  he  knows  I 
loved  you  as  Peter — ^ay,  loved  you,  as  I  feared,  unnatur- 
ally  " 

"  I  must  leave  you,"  broke  in  Cherry.  She  retreated 
a  few  steps,  then  hesitated  to  murmur,  "  I  believe 
there  is  nothing  more  to  say  ?  " 

"  And  now  you  are  Cherry.  You  stand  before  me, 
clad  in  the  garments  of  my  dear  friend  Peter,  but  a 
princess  in  disguise,  a  most  lovely  maiden.  And  I 
fought  with  you,  more  out  of  love  than  hatred — I  know 
not  why— and  I  shed  your  blood— I  bruised  your 
beautiful  face." 

"  This  is  a  strange  parting,  friend,"  she  murmured  ; 
but  did  not  go,  although  she  was  so  fleet  of  foot  he 
could  hardly  race  with  her. 

"  I  have  the  stained  handkerchief  beneath  my  coat ; 
I  shall  wear  it  ever^-  day.  It  is  because  my  f?*her 
knows  this — ^knows  I  shall  transfer  my  love  from  ^  ter 
to  Cherry,  and  make  it  natural— I  perceive  now  it  was 
indeed  an  honest  love — it  is  because  he  knows  I  do 
love  you,  and  seek  you  for  my  wife,  that  he  issues 
this  cruel  order,  separating  me  from  you.  I  will 
not  leave  you  until  I  hear  my  sentence  from  your 
lips." 


BIARTIN   IS   EXPELLED 


«45 


She  put  up  her  arm  and  plucked  a  sprig  of  honey- 
suckle. She  threw  it  upon  the  grass  between  them, 
and  said  in  a  voice  scarce  higher  than  a  whisper : 

"  This  is  the  barrier  which  you  may  not  cross  to  me  ; 
nor  I  to  you.  It  is  the  barrier  also  which  divides  the 
romance  of  Bezurrel  Woods  from  the  dark  wajrs  of  the 
world.  You  must  know,"  she  went  on,  with  her  gaze 
fixed  upon  the  flowering  grasses,  "  Peter,  though  a 
rascal,  was  not  dull.  He  could  see  all  that  a  maiden 
does  see.  He  declared  sorrow  had  no  existence — or 
rather  that  it  could  not  exist  while  we  lead  an  easy  and 
a  natural  life.  Yet  he  knew  there  are  stinging-bees 
in  the  honeysuckle  and  vipers  at  Halcyon.  But  he 
knew  also  it  is  possible  to  raise  a  barrier  of  sweet- 
scented  flowers  between  the  world  of  romance  and  that 
whole  horrid  land  of  darkness  that  we  shrink  from — 
and  ever  to  remain  upon  the  romantic  side.  We  appear 
to  dwell  in  two  different  worlds  at  present.  Yet,  I 
do  assure  you,  we  are  separated  only  by  the  honey- 
suckle.' 

"  Can  you  love  me,  Cherry  ?  " 

"  Do  not  cross  my  frontier.  Perceive  the  large 
humble-bee,  who  is  my  officer  !  " 

"Answer  me  Adth  an  acceptance,  lovely  sweetheart ; 
and  I  go  to  my  father  like  a  hero." 

"  Scarred  by  his  campaigns  I  With  news  of  a  fresh 
engagement — great  tidings  of  battle,"  she  said. 
"Carry  the  honeysuckle  to  Sir  Thomas,  if  you  will, 
and  say  I  gave  it  you.  And  tell  him,  what  my  hand 
has  placed  between  us,  his  hand  must  remove." 

"  Promise  at  least  you  have  some  afiection  for  me." 

"  Love  for  my  brother's  murderer,  Martin  !  Oh, 
for  shame  i  " 


i  i 


Ml 


; 


Its 


m 


''    'I 


i-r 


CHAPTER   X 


THE   YOUNGER    SON    DOES   BUT   LITTLE   GOOD 
FOR  HIMSELF 

A  SULLENNESS  came  over  Martin.  He  was  short  with 
Sir  Thomas,  who  chose  to  take  no  notice  of  his  wilful- 
ness ;  treated  David  with  cold  civility  ;  but  revealed 
his  heart  to  my  lady,  and  opened  his  soul  to  Father 
Benedict.  The  mother,  while  upholding  her  husband, 
sympathised  m  secret  with  her  son.  The  old  priest 
spoke  with  uncommon  harshness,  and  inflicted  a 
penance,  which  one  fears  was  not  observed. 

"  Sir  Thomas,"  said  her  ladyship  at  lart,  "  do  you 
not  perceive  what  is  going  on  before  your  eyes  ?  " 

"  I  see  it  very  well,"  he  answered.  "  But  I  desire 
our  sons  to  settle  their  differences  without  my  inter- 
ference.  They  are  young  English  gentlemen." 

"  My  father  was  a  noted  fighter.  Both  my  brothers 
arc  much  addicted  to  the  duello,"  she  warned  him. 

"  I  have  not  forgot,"  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  Within  the 
next  few  days  I  start  for  London.  Martin,  I  believe, 
will  determme  the  date  of  my  departure.  David  will 
brood  over  an  insult.   Martin  strikes  at  once." 

After  that  Sir  Thomas  made  much  of  his  younger  son, 
and  appeared  not  to  notice  his  delinquencies ;  which  to 
be  sure  were  hardly  serious,  for  though  he  often  tres- 
passed in  Bezurrel  Woods,  he  had  no  speech  with  Cherry; 
that  young  lady  being  obdurate.  But  Martin  put  a 
wrong  construction  upon  his  father's  forbearance,  and 
became  more  open  in  his  disobedience,  and  allowed  his 

feelings  play.  , , 

"  I  trust  Mistress  Clabar  is  well,  David,"  he  would  say 

346 


THE   YOUNGER   SON 


247 


in  a  sneering  fashion.  "  Yet  I  do  not  know  hoT>  you  can 
tell  me,  for  I  believe  you  seldom  visit  her." 

One  evening  the  brothers  met  just  within  the  wood ; 
indeed,  Martin  was  not  more  than  a  dozen  paces  from 
the  lane,  when  he  saw  David  advancing  towards  him  ; 
hearing  him  first  because  the  young  man  whistled  as  he 
walked.  Fir-trees  grew  in  that  place,  and  a  few  cones 
had  fallen.  Martin  was  angered  by  the  knowledge  that 
David  came  from  Halcyon ;  therefore  he  took  a  cone 
and  threw  it  so  that  it  struck  his  brother  upon  the  chest. 

"  I  see  what  it  is,  Martin,"  said  David,  stoppmg  short 
upon  the  path.    "  You  mean  to  challenge  me." 

"  You  may  take  my  action  as  you  will,"  cried  Martin. 

"  I  will  have  you  loiow  this,  brother,"  replied  David. 
"  You  are  out  of  bounds.  These  woods  are  mine,  and 
I  do  not  choose  to  have  you  walking  here." 

"  It  is  tyranny  indeed  when  a  son  may  not  walk  upon 
his  father's  property,"  cried  Martin  hotly. 

"  There  is  no  tyranny.  My  father  has  appointed  me 
the  guardian  of  these  woods,  and  he  has  forbidden  you 
to  enter  them.    You  gain  nothing  by  displeasing  us." 

"  Us  !  "  exclaimed  Martin  with  increasing  anger. 

"  I  am  the  heir.  All  this  property  will  be  mine.  You 
are  entitled  to  nothing  save  what  the  generosity  of  my 
father  may  bestow.  The  yoimger  son  must  be  kept  in 
his  place.    You  are  rebeUmg  against  us,  brother." 

"  He  swells  with  a  word  of  two  letters  like  the  frog  in 
the  fable,"  said  Martin  with  contempt. 

"  Brother,  you  have  been  strange  with  me  lately ," 
David  continued,  still  keepirig  his  good  humour.  "  I 
believe  you  study  too  much.  You  have  it  in  your  mind 
that  I  ar  ^  i  pr^anting  you— to  be  plain,  you  are  jealous." 

"  I  sh  II  aiwiys  stand  up  to  daim  what  is  my  right." 

"  But  understand,  brother,  you  shall  not  insult  me. 
I  will  not  have  you  lurking  in  these  woods,  until  my 
father  withdraws  his  prohibition ;  nor  shall  I  permit 
you  to  throw  fir-cones  at  me.  I  am  a  year  older  than 
you ;  and  a  year  stronger." 


it 

^1 


•  If 


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24S 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  I  am  ten  years  cleverer." 

"  That  may  be.  The  law  of  descent  does  not  include 
brains  in  the  reckoning.  You  may  read  Latin,  and 
enjoy  Greek— which  for  my  part  I  detest — but  all  the 
learning  in  the  world  cannot  make  you  the  heir.  I  shall 
not  abate  one  jot  of  my  privileges.  Come,  brother  I  " 
said  David  in  a  kindly  voice.  "  We  have  been  un- 
common good  friends — side  by  side  we  fought  against 
the  town  at  Oxford.  Hang  me  if  I  will  bear  you 
enmity." 

••  A  pretty  speech,"  said  Martin  bitterly.  "  Why  in- 
deed should  the  one  who  has  possession  of  the  loaf  bear 
enmity  to  the  crumb-snatcher  ?  I  admit  your  right  to 
the  first  place  in  my  father's  favour,  to  the  chief  part  of 
his  wealth,  to  the  whole  of  his  landed  property  ;  for  you 
had  the  fortune  to  come  first  into  the  world." 

"  But  you  wiU  not  admit  my  right  to  Mistress  Clabar. 
I  fear,  brother,  we  cannot  melt  her  into  guineas  nor  yet 
divide  her  into  acres." 

"  You  are  a  rascal ;  ay,  a  precious  blackguard," 
Martin  shouted,  almost  choking  in  his  passion. 

"  Calm  yourself,  brother,"  said  David  coldly. 

"  I  wUl  when  I  have  beat  you.  With  a  smile  upon 
your  face  you  talk  of  sharing  her  that  you  may  mock 
me.  Divide  her  !  Would  I  spare  you  a  single  hair  from 
her  head,  were  you  mad  for  it  ?  Could  you  allow  the 
thought  to  come  into  your  mind  if  you  loved  her  ?  I 
would  spare  you  nothing — not  a  blade  of  grass  her  foot 
had  pressed." 

"  Brother,"  muttered  David,  beginning  to  glow, 
"  you  had  best  get  home,  and  shut  yourself  up  with 
your  favourite  author." 

"  I  will  fight  you,  rascal !  Ay,  and  I'll  fight  my 
father,  and  any  other  man  who  stands  between  Cherry 
and  myself,  whether  he  be  giant  or  pygmy." 

"  You  are  a  fool,  Martin,  to  arouse  my  anger,"  said 
David,  dropping  at  last  the  friendly  title  of  brother. 
"  You  cannot  beat  me ;  and  if  you  could  you  would 


mum 


THE   YOUNGER   SON 


249 


find  yourself  no  better  for  it.  My  father  desires  his  heir 
to  marry  Mistress  ClalKur ;  and  I  am  like  to  be  more 
obedient  than  yourself." 

"  You  may  beat  me ;  but  unless  you  kill  me " 

"  Let's  have  no  more  of  this,"  broke  in  David  roughly. 
"  Look  at  this  arm — ^twice  the  strength  of  yours— an 
arm  which  has  broken  horses ;  while  yours  has  done 
litl^  save  hold  a  book— and  whip  a  woman." 

"  You  dog  I  "  sobbed  Martin.  Then  he  stumbled 
towards  his  brother  and  kicked  him. 

David  went  white  and  had  much  difficulty  to  restrain 
himself.  He  put  out  his  arm  and  pushed  Martin  ofi, 
murmuring,  "  We  must  wipe  this  out." 

"  With  pistols  !  If  you  take  her  from  me,  you  may 
kill  me.    If  I  kill  you,  I  may  win  her  yet." 

"  Swords,"  said  David  thickly.  "  I'll  use  no  other 
weapon." 

"  I  swear  to  bring  a  pistol  and  shoot  you.  Follow  me 
— or  if  you  must  play  the  tyrant  walk  in  front." 

It  was  not  far  to  the  clearing  where  the  battle  with 
Cherry  had  taken  place;  and  here  Martm  paused, 
groaning  with  memories,  and  carrying  a  passion  far  too 
strong  for  him ;  and  said  as  calmly  as  was  possible, 
"  In  this  place  at  sunrise — ^unless  you  choose  to  play 
the  coward." 

"  I  would  advise  you  to  restrain  your  tongue, 
Martin,"  said  his  brother  fiercely.  "  I  am  far  more 
cool  than  yourself,  though  you  have  called  me  dog  and 
kicked  me  ;  yet  I  have  passion  in  me.  I  have  no  wish 
to  be  the  only  son." 

"  The  younger,  it  seems,  is-iwt  allowed  to  live.  Go 
your  way  now.  We  do  not  meet  again,  nor  speak,  until 
the  dawn." 

"  Martin  I  "  called  David,  conquering  his  baser  feel- 
ings with  an  effort,  "  I  am  bound  in  honour  not  to 
mention  this  affair  to  any  person.  It  is  my  present 
purpose  to  Ining  no  weapon.  I  will  meet  you  here,  and 
fight  you ;  but  let  it  be  in  manly  fashion  with  the  fists." 


ill 
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350 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  This  it  lor  Cherry,"  shouted  Martin.  "  And  for  her 
I  will  fight  you  to  the  death." 

He  staggered  away  into  the  wood,  blind  to  the  path- 
way; while  David  went  in  the  opposite  direction, 
muttering : 

"  This  IS  like  to  be  an  awful  business,  and  my  lips  are 
sealed.  I  must  get  first  to  the  house  and  hide  the  pistols. 
If  the  cnued  fool  knew  all,  he  would  not  threaten,  and 
he  would  not  fight ;  but  here  again  my  lips  are  sealed 
by  ionour." 

LHnner  at  Bezurrel  was  served  at  five,  and  had  there- 
fore been  partaken  of  before  the  meeting  of  the  brothers 
in  the  wood.  Martin  went  towards  Great  Gwentor,  that 
he  might  moan  for  an  hour  among  the  rocks.  David  re- 
tuined  with  all  possible  speed  ;  and  some  minutes  later 
grave  John  Clabar  waited  upon  Sir  Thomas  at  the  out- 
ward door  with  an  urgent  message. 

"Come  within,  honest  John,"  said  the  baronet, 
taking  him  by  the  hand. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir.  but  would  not  detain  you.  I  come 
like  the  burd  of  night,  I  fear,  to  croak  ill-omen,"  replied 
the  clerk. 

"  'Tis  a  fine  evening.  I  will  take  a  turn  with  you  in 
the  park,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  calling  to  a  servant  for  his 
hat  and  cane. 

"  Will  you    ^t  take  your  cloak,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I,  John  ?  " 

"  You  said  'tis  a  fine  evening ;  but  I  can  perceive 
that  a  storm  is  coming  upward  from  the  sea." 

"  Give  me  my  cloak,"  Sir  Thomas  ordered. 

They  walked  a  little  way  along  the  avenue,  then 
turned  into  the  open  park.  Here  Clabar  pointed 
toward  the  north  and  said,  "  You  may  see  yonder, 
travelling  slowly,  clouds  like  dark  fleeces.  When  these 
settle  of  an  evening,  sir,  the  night  promises  to  be 
wild." 

"  And  you  come  with  these  clouds  to  bring  me  ill 
tidings  of  my  sons." 


THE   YOUNGER   SON 


251 


"  Nay,  f'r  if  you  know  all  I  might  have  spared  my 
labour/' 

"  What  is  your  knowledge  ?  " 

"  I  was  talang  my  evening  walk  through  the  woods, 
when  I  heard  high  voices.  I  listened  for  some  time, 
deeming  it  my  duty  to  do  so,  for  I  could  tell  the  sounds 
were  full  of  danger  to  your  house.  It  was  not  necessary 
to  advance  and  play  the  spy,  for  the  voices  would 
almost  have  carried  to  my  door.  Sir,  your  two  sons 
propose  to  fight  at  daybreak." 

"  Your  daughter,  John  I  "  exclaimed  Sir  Thomas, 
after  a  moment's  silence.  "  I  have  longed  for  a  lovely 
daughter,  even  like  Cherry — and  now,  John  I  Provi- 
dence gives  with  one  hand,  but  threatens  to  take  away 
with  the  other." 

"  Sir,  you  will  take  some  immediate  action  ;  for  I  do 
not  like  to  mention  this  to  Cherry." 

"  You  are  right,  John.  Do  not  vex  her  with  a  tale  of 
mischief  she  is  in  innocence  guilty  of.  Yet  I  would 
speak  to  her.  Await  me  here,  while  I  return  to  see  my 
lady,  and  give  some  orders." 

Clabar  had  not  long  to  lean  against  a  tree  with  folded 
arms,  watching  the  changes  in  the  northern  sky  ;  for 
Sir  Thomas  was  quick  in  action  when  his  mind  was 
settled.  They  went  together  towards  the  woods,  where 
darkness  had  fallen  ;  and  as  they  entered  the  shadows 
Sir  Thomas  stopped  his  companion  to  wring  his  hand. 

"  You  have  rendered  me  the  greatest  service,  honest 
John,"  he  said  with  some  emotion.  "  This  is  a  matter 
which  must  have  escaped  my  knowledge.  You  believe 
I  know  everything,  yet  you  do  not  think  so  in  your 
heart,  since  you  came  to  warn  me.  It  is  true  I  knew 
something  of  this  matter,  but  not  the  whole  ;  and  with- 
out your  added  iniormation  my  knowledge  would  have 
availed  me  nothing.  Therefore  I  thank  you  with  all 
my  soul." 

"  Sir,  I  am  heavily  in  your  debt,"  replied  Clabar. 

They  discovered  Cherry  engaged  among  her  flowers, 


■■   "1; 

'I 


I 


35a 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


though  it  was  difficult  to  see ;  destroying  slugs,  and 
seekmg  to  trap  a  mole  which  worked  havoc  in  the 
border.  Sending  Clahar  within,  Sir  Thomas  drew 
Cherry  outside  the  fence,  and  told  her  he  was  likely  to 
be  absent  for  some  weeks,  during  which  time  he  desired 
her  to  go  often  to  Bezurrel  and  entertain  my  lady  with 
her  chatter. 

"  Gladly,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  go  in  search  of  Ruth? " 

"  I  shall  strive  my  utmost  to  d^cover  her.  To-night 
I  visit  you,  that  I  may  say  farewell,  dear  child ;  and 
warn  you  against  Grambla." 

"  He  does  not  enter  into  my  existence,"  she  said 
scornfully.  "  Long  ago  I  swore  to  whip  him,  but  now 
I  think  he  is  not  worth  the  trouble  ;  for  he  has  become 
like  one  of  these  black  slugs,  slow  and  lazy,  hiding  by 
day  and  prowling  at  night.  Indeed  I  would  no  k>nger 
wear  these  clothes  did  I  not  fceJ  so  much  at  my  oue  in 
them." 

"  Peace,  pretty  chattertr  I "  said  Sir  Thonas. 
"  Grambla  mH  soon  awake  from  his  stupor  and  com- 
mence mischief.  It  may  happen  before  my  return,  and 
so  I  warn  you.  If  he  tempts  you  to  enter  Coinagehall, 
do  not  go.  And  should  you  see  strangers  in  Moyle, 
beware  of  them  ;  for  Grambla  may  devise  some  plan 
to  carry  you  away." 

"  Now  you  approach  the  real  purpose  of  your  visit  ' 
said  Cherry,  when  he  seemed  to  hesitate.  "  A  woma  ■ 
is  supposed  to  enjoy  the  last  word  ;  and  that  is  tme 
when  'tis  the  word  of  conquest.  But  a  man  will  talk  of 
a  thousand  idle  matters  before  he  reaches  the  words  he 
came  to  utter." 

"  Sorceress  !  "  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  When  the  cry 
goes  up  to  drown  the  witch  of  Moyle,  it  will  not  be 
Mother  Gothal  we  must  rescue.  I  have  some  words  for 
your  ear,  young  lady.  You  remember  your  first  visit 
to  Bezurrel  ?  " 

"  When  you  read  from  a  book  of  magic  and  con- 
founded me  1 " 


'i 


THE  YOUNGER  SON 


a53 


"  And  when  I  spoke  of  a  danger  threatening  my 
house— though  indeed  I  did  not  see  it  in  the  fonn  now 
present." 

"  I  carried  that  warning  to  my  bed.  And  next  mom- 
vag  I  perceived  your  meaning.  You  were  warning  me 
tnith  mif^t  come  out  some  day,  and  then  it  might  so 
happen  one  of  your  sons  might  take  a  liking  for  me — 
amazing  things  must  happen  in  a  world  of  wonder — and 
it  would  be  my  duty  to  frown  him  away  ;  for  'tis '  nay. 
young  gentleman/  when  the  maid  is  poor  and  lowly, 
and  the  young  gentleman  of  quality  puts  the  question. 
I  have  learnt  at  least  the  grammar  of  your  warning. 
Your  younger  son  has  honoured  me  with  the  question — 
which  was  indeed  put  somewhat  in  the  form  of  an 
eleventh  commandment ;  thou  shalt  not  have  any 
other  man  but  me — and  I  ^nt  him  from  me  with  a 
whipping." 

"  It  was  bravely  done,  dear  child."  said  Sir  Thomas, 
using  a  lover's  voice  himself.  ' '  I  come  to-night  to  with- 
draw those  words,  and  to  issue  these  in  place  of  them. 
If  you  have  idiection  for  either  of  my  sons,  I  beg  you 
not  to  hide  it  at  the  moment  when  a  maiden  may  express 
her  feelings  ;  for  I  have  so  far  changed  my  mind  that 
now,  should  David  ask  for  my  consent  to  wed  you,  I 
shall  with  the  utmost  happiness  give  that  consent,  also 
my  Idessing  to  the  union." 

"  A  change  indeed !  What  has  caused  it — not,  I 
believe,  my  face  ?  " 

"  It  has  served." 

"  Nor  yet  my  character  ?  " 

"  That  too  has  served." 

"  Nor  my  happiness,  my  strength ;  nay,  at  this 
moment  I  shall  add  courage  ?  I  begin  to  discover 
virtues  in  myself." 

"  All  these  have  helped,  my  chattering  piece  of 
vanity." 

"  Come,  listen  I    I  have  other  questions." 

"  Which  you  shall  address  to  the  storm.   Let  thimder 


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254 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


answer/'  replied  Sir  Thomas,  drawing  the  cloak  about 
him  ;  for  the  wood  became  merry  with  tapping  of  rain 
on  leaves. 

"  I  beg  you  to  answer — do  you  know  anything  of  a 
sprig  of  honeysuckle  ?  " 

"  You  are  talking  of  some  dream,  child." 

"  It  lay  upon  the  ground  as  a  boundary  between  my 
kingdom  and  yours;  and  your  hand  could  alone  remove 
it.  Now  you  withdraw  the  barrier  and  throw  two  king- 
doms into  one.  Bezurrel  Castle  is  now  joined  to  Halcyon 
Cottage.  Ay,  the  court  is  at  Halcyon.  We  must 
plant  trees,  and  scatter  flower-seeds,  so  that  Bezurrel 
may  be  brought  into  the  woodland.  Oaks  only.  Sir 
Thomas,  and  honeysuckle  shall  climb  up  every  one. 
Now  the  thunder  rumbles.  I  need  not  escort  you  to 
the  frontier,  for  the  barrier  is  down." 

"  You  are  a  madcap  maid !  " 

"  Free,  Sir  Thomas  !  Free  and  happy  !  This  storm 
is  out  of  place,  for  the  elements  should  be  calm  while 
happiness  is  hatching.  Here  is  a  mischievous  attempt 
of  some  demon  to  blast  out  a  pathway  by  which  sorrow 
may  crawl  in.  Farewell,  Sir  Thomas !  Good  angels 
guard  the  trees  you  walk  beneath." 

"  Sweetheart,  good-bye !  Were  you  my  own 
daughter  I  could  not  love  you  more." 

The  storm  grew  fierce  as  Martin  reached  Beziurel. 
Being  informed  that  my  lady  desired  to  see  him,  he 
went  to  her  at  once  ;  and  was  told :  "  I  am  making 
changes  in  the  house,  and  have  placed  you  for  to-night 
in  a  different  chamber." 

"  Nearer  your  own,  mother  ?  "  he  inquired  sus- 
piciously. 

"  On  the  contrary  ;  further  away." 

"  I  thought,  mother,  you  might  wish  to  hear  me 
when  I  entered  or  left  my  room." 

"  That  was  not  in  my  mind,"  she  said. 

Martin  remained  with  his  mother  some  little  time,  for 
she  detained  him  ;  and  when  they  parted  for  the  night 


THE   YOUNGER  SON 


255 


she  embraced  him  with  more  than  her  usual  affection ; 
so  that  his  suspicions  became  again  aroused,  and  he 
asked  if  she  had  seen  his  brother. 

"  David  has  not  been  with  me,"  her  ladyship  replied. 
"  I  am  a  little  troubled,  dear  son,  for  I  may  lose  you 
soon.  Your  father  determines  to  send  you  upon  the 
Continent,  where  you  will  visit  some  of  my  relations, 
and  complete  your  education  by  seeing  something  of 
the  world.  You  will  retmn,  I  know,  a  brave  and 
honest  English  gentleman ;  yet  I  know  also  the  son 
I  shall  receive  cannot  be  quite  the  same  as  the  dear 
wilful  lad  I  send  away." 

"  You  have  some  fear  for  me,  my  mother." 

"  I  fear  your  nature,  Martin.  You  are  over-ready  to 
take  offence,  and  apt  to  strike  the  friend  who,  it  may  be, 
has  nothing  but  affection  for  you.  This  lesson  you  are 
to  learn :  control  the  little  demon  who  whispers  of 
fighting  in  your  ear,  seek  no  quarrel,  and  do  not  draw 
your  sword  save  in  defence  of  your  own.  or  another's, 
honour.  You  have  courage,  Martin.  That  will  not 
serve  until  you  acquire  restraint." 

There  was  no  sleep  for  Martin  in  the  different  cham- 
ber, to  which  he  hardly  noticed  no  portion  of  his  ward- 
robe had  been  moved.  The  storm  continued  until  mid- 
night ;  not  only  upon  land  and  sea,  but  within  his  body 
also.  He  dreaded  the  approach  of  morning,  and  grew 
cold  as  he  watched  the  sky  for  the  first  breaking  of  light 
which  was  to  summon  him  to  the  clearing  in  the  wood« 
No  withdrawal  was  then  possible  ;  he  could  not  go  to 
David's  room  and  offer  his  hand.  That  would  be 
cowardice.    Neither  could  David  come  to  him. 

Yet  a  footstep  sounded  along  the  passage,  and  a  hand 
knocked  firmly  at  the  door.  Martin  made  an  effort  to 
answer,  but,  when  no  sound  issued  from  his  lips,  he  left 
the  bed  and  advanced  to  the  door,  fully  expecting  to 
find  his  brother ;  for  he  forgot  that  David  would  not 
know  of  the  different  arrangement  of  the  chambers. 
He  was  amazed  to  find  the  door  already  open.   Day  had 


h 


i#  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

not  yet  broken,  while  the  figure  standing  by  the 
tlureshold  held  no  light. 

"  David  I  "  he  wluspered. 

"  Martin  I " 

"  Father  I " 

"  Dress  yourself  and  follow  me." 

"  But.  father " 

"  No  words  1  Disobey  me  now,  and  I  use  you  as  a 
duld,  and  call  the  men-servants  to  dress  you.  Do  not 
speak  to  me  again." 

He  went  along  the  passage  and  called  for  lights.  A 
servant  brought  candles,  and  Martin  dressed ;  while 
Sir  Thomas  stood  by,  stem  and  silent .  Then  he  gripped 
his  son  by  the  arm.  and  led  him  down. 

The  house  was  lighted,  and  servants  were  bustling  as 
though  it  had  been  day.  Martin  was  led  into  the  dining- 
room,  and  here  to  his  amazement  discovered  breakfast 
set  out.  Sir  Thomas  forced  him  into  a  chair,  seated 
himself  opposite,  and  still  not  a  word  was  spoken.  But 
Martin  cotdd  hear  the  bumping  of  luggage,  and  while  he 
tried  to  swallow  meat  and  drink,  horses  pranced,  wheels 
rolled,  and  there  came  the  flash  of  lamps  across  the 
windows. 

"  Father  I  "  he  cried,  springing  up.  "  It  must  be 
daybreak." 

"  Be  seated,  Martin  !  " 

"  Sir,  I  must  go  out  or  be  dishonoured." 

"  Finish  your  breakfast." 

"  I  can  eat  no  more." 

"  Then  come  !  " 

"  I  do  not  go." 

"  Martin,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  "  I  give  ywi  the  choice 
of  walking  with  me  to  the  coach,  or  of  being  taken  there 
by  force." 

"  You  are  carrying  me  away,  sir  I  " 

"  Ay,  from  yourself." 

"  And  from  Cherry,"  Martin  whispered.  Then  he 
cried  again,  "  Sir,  I  do  not  go  !  " 


THE   YOUNGER  SON 


257 


Sir  Thomas  went  swiftly  to  the  door.  Pausing  there, 
he  took  out  his  watch  and  held  it  near  the  flame  of  a 
candle,  then  said  quietly,  "  I  give  you  one  minute. 
When  it  expires,  I  call  the  grooms." 

A  few  seconds  they  stood,  the  fatherbeside  the  candle, 
the  son  leaning  over  the  taWe.  Then  Martin  flung  the 
chair  back,  and  walked  towards  the  door,  passionate 
tears  streaming  down  his  face.  Sir  Thomas  replaced 
the  watch  in  his  fob,  and  followed.  A  few  minutes  after- 
wards the  coach  rolled  down  the  avenue,  and  entered 
the  lane  which  would  lead  into  the  L(mdon  road. 


Mum 


PART   III 


CHAPTER  I 


RUTH   AND   HER   MEDICAL  ATTENDANT  ARRIVE 
AT  SALISBURY 

Fortune  favoured  Ruth  and  her  young  gentleman,  so 
that  they  arrived  at  the  ancient  city  of  Salisbury  after 
as  easy  a  journey  as  any  couple  coidd  have  wished  for. 
Having  still  a  good  stock  of  the  Grambla  guineas,  they 
put  up  at  an  inn,  engaged  rooms,  ordered  a  dinner, 
and  proceeded  to  make  themselves  at  home  within  a 
snug-box  of  the  coffee-room.  Ruth,  who  passed  as 
Miss  Cay,  a  name  which  she  had  no  reason  to  dislike, 
was  exceedingly  weary ;  while  her  hero,  who  had 
fallen  somewhat  from  grace,  owing  to  a  sinful  crav- 
ing after  the  diamond  necklace,  chatted  in  a  most 
excited  fashion : 

"  We  are  now  in  my  uncle's  country,  Ruthie,  and 
within  ten  miles  of  the  only  place  I  am  able  to  call 
home.  To-morrow  we  ride  ever  as  desolate  a  road  as 
you  will  find  in  England,  leading  across  these  Wilt- 
shire downs,  where  I  wandered  as  a  youth,  praying 
Providence  to  send  me  some  damsel  a  thousand  times 
less  fair  than  yourself  to  share  my  solitude.  We  shall 
face  the  old  curmudgeon  in  his  den ;  myself  in  the 
penitential  attitude  of  the  prodigal  returned ;  my 
Ruthie  all  tears,  like  Niobe.  I  shall  offer  the  old 
scoundrel  my  good  horse — 'twill  melt  him,  I  warrant, 
for  he  had  always  a  mighty  taste  for  horse-flesh — ^and 
promise  him  I  bring  a  young  lady  of  fortune  who  has 

358 


RUTH  AND  HER  MEDICAL  ATTENDANT     259 

sworn  to  have  me.  And  after  that  we  go  on  our  knees 
to  beg  a  blessing.  Horse,  penitence,  beauty,  and 
fortune,  shall  strike  the  milk  of  human  kindness  from 
the  flint  of  his  heart ;  and  I  believe  we  shall  receive  a 
hearty  welcome." 

"  That  may  be,  Harry ;  but  I  do  not  like  to  hear 
you  abuse  the  old  gentleman,"  said  Ruth  severely. 

"  Why,  sweetheart,  did  he  not  turn  me  out  into  the 
world  ?  " 

"  I  fear  you  were  always  a  rogue,  and  such  deserve 
harsh  treatment.  I  may  yet  run,  if  you  do  not  im- 
prove under  my  teaching.  It  is,  however,  my  con- 
solation to  know  that  you  cannot  be  hanged." 

"  Sweetheart,  do  not  call  up  ghosts,"  he  pleaded. 
"  We  shall  sight  a  gallows  as  we  ride  in  the  morning ; 
and  I  do  not  wish  to  look  in  that  direction." 

"  Dear  Harry,  I  do  but  remind  you  we  are  not  yet 
clear  of  difficulties.  Your  uncle  may  not  receive  us, 
and  what  shall  we  do  then  ?  " 

"  In  that  case,  Rutliie,  I  can  think  of  nothing  but 
a  trip  to  London." 

"  You  may  be  recognised  as  the  ghost  of  that  most 
infamous  scoundrel.  Black  Harry — now  dead,  thank 
Godl" 

"I  am  as  like  to  receive  a  tap  on  the  shoulder  in 
this  city  of  Salisbury  as  there.  My  horse  is  stolen,  so 
are  my  clothes.  These  guineas  are  my  only  property 
won  fairly,  yet  justice  would  declare  I  stole  them  as 
well." 

"  And  this  ring  upon  my  finger  ?  " 

"  Stolen,  my  love." 

"  Ah,  Harry,  what  wretches  we  are,  for  by  loving 
you  I  make  myself  the  partner  of  your  sins." 

"  You  forget,  little  one  !  I  am  now  become  a 
reformed  character,  and  these  my  sins — which  I 
repent  of  heartily — ^have  been  washed  away." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Ruth,  always  ready  to  defend 
her  new  theology.    "  Yet  consider  the  danger,  Harry  ! 


36o 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


A  coach  may  drive  to  this  door ;  the  owner  of  these 
clothes  may  enter.  He  would  not  listen  to  your  words 
of  penitence ;  while  the  justices — ^who,  I  have  been 
informed,  are  a  most  unregenerate  lot — ^would  mock 
at  the  story  of  your  baptism." 

"  I  have  chajiged  my  character,  love,  and  at  the 
first  opportunity  I  shall  change  my  clothes." 

"  Return  to  our  plans  for  the  future,"  said  Ruth. 
"  If  you  travel  to  London,  I  do  not  accompany  you." 

"  Sweetheart,  our  marriage  I  " 

"  Be  patient,  Harry.  If  I  could  aid  you  as  a  wife, 
I  would  indeed  be  married  to  you  in  some  dark  comer ; 
but  I  believe  it  will  be  best  to  wait  until  we  see  our 
way  more  clearly.  If  your  imcle  is  kind — very  well  1 
If  not,  you  shall  go  upon  your  journey — after  first 
providing  yourself  with  other  garmer  ^ — ^while  I  shall 
find  a  decent  lodging.  But  first  you  must  write  for  me 
to  Sir  Thomas,  begging  him  to  sell  my  jewels,"  said 
Ruth,  joyously  adding,  "It  is  a  fine  thing  for  a  maid 
who  does  not  even  know  her  name  to  have  such  jewels 
for  sale." 

"  He  may  keep  them  by  him  for  many  weeks,"  said 
Cay.  "  Nor  can  he  make  a  sale  until  he  goes  to  London. 
In  the  meantime,  should  my  uncle  not  offer  his  hospi- 
tality, we  must  starve,  unless  I  obtain  honest  em- 
ployment in  the  metropolis  ;  for  I  am  not  dull  enough 
to  work  in  the  country." 

"  What  honest  employment  do  you  know  of,  Harry  ?  " 

"  I  am  best  acquainted,  love,  with  gaming-houses." 

"  What  goes  on  there,  Harry  ?  " 

"  Games  of  cards  are  played,  and  gentlemen  specu- 
late with  sums  of  money  ;  yet  by  some  strange  mis- 
chance they  always  lose." 

"  Is  honesty  always  practised  ?  "  she  asked  earnestly. 

"  I  fear,  little  one,  there  may  be  sometimes  corrup- 
tion in  the  management.  There  are  a  great  number 
of  officials  attached  to  these  houses ;  and,  while 
the  majority  act  with  honesty,  or  are  indeed  not 


RUTH  AND  HER  MEDICAL  ATTENDANT     a6i 

indifferent  to  that  virtue,  others  are  little  better  than 
common  cheats." 

"  Then  I  pray  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  such 
people." 

"  A  man  in  need  of  employment  may  sniff  at  his 
butter,  but  he  must  not  despise  his  bread,"  said  Cay. 
"  I  should  enroll  myself  among  the  number  of  officials 
who  are  honest ;    and  for  your  information,  sweet- 
heart, I  shall  tell  you  their  names,  and  what  manner 
of  duties  they  perform.    First,  we  have  the  gentle- 
man known  as  Commissioner,  who  is  always  a  pro- 
prietor, and  looks  in  of  a  night  to  watch  the  run  of  the 
game,  and  audits  the  weekly  accounts  ;   he,  for  all  I 
know,  may  be  a  churchwarden  and  very  honest  fellow. 
Next  In  rank  comes  the  Director,  who  has  charge  of 
the  room,  and,  as  'tis  a  part  of  his  duty  to  see  that 
the  play  be  fair,   he  will  indeed  be  honest.     The 
Operator  has  merely  to  deal  the  cards,  and  whether 
he  does  so  fairly,  or  employs  a  trick,  we  are  not  to 
know ;  therefore  we  shall  give  him  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt,  and  call  him  honest.    Two  Crowpees,  one  upon 
either  side  of  the  table,  keep  their  eyes  upon  the  cards, 
and  accept  money  for  the  bank;    these  gentlemen, 
bemg  cashiers  and  occupying  a  position  of  trust,  are 
surely  upright.    The  Puff  is  a  pleasing  fellow,  who  is 
supplied  with  money  to  decoy  others  to  play ;  while 
the  Clerk  is  a  check  upon  the  Puff,  to  see  that  he  uses 
not  the  money  for  himself.    The  Squib  is  a  Puff  of 
lower  rank.    The  Flasher  is  a  gentleman  of  loud  voice, 
very  finely  clad,  who  walks  about  the  room,  swearing 
he  has  himself  broke  the  bank  many  times.     The 
Captain,  who  is  retired  from  the  army,  fights  any 
gentleman  who  is  peevish  after  losing  his  money.  The 
Attorney,  who  is  a  solicitor  from  Newgate,  gives  the 
law  to  the  company.     The  Dunner  goes  about  to 
receive  money  lost.     The  Waiter  serves  wine  and 
snuffs  the  candles.    The  Usher  lights  gentlemen  up 
and  down  the  stairs.    The  Porter,  who  is  dismissed 


262 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


1 


from  the  anny,  is  stationed  at  the  door  to  challenge 
suspicious  characters.  The  Orderly  Man  walks  up 
and  down  outside  the  house,  and  makes  a  signal  to 
the  Ptorter  at  any  approach  of  constables.  While  the 
Runner  gets  knowledge  of  the  movements  of  justices. 
Besides  these  regular  officials  are  link-boys,  cluurmen, 
and  drawers,  who  receive  a  reward  of  half  a  guinea  for 
bringing  news  of  justices  meetmg  or  constables  being 
out.  And  attached  to  the  house  are  many  Bails, 
Afl&davit-men,  Bravos,  and  Money-lenders  for  the 
convenience  of  patrons." 

"  I  am  convinced  they  are  a  parcel  of  scoundrels ; 
and  would  rather  you  filled  mud-holes  in  the  public 
roads  than  be  associated  with  such  people,"  said  Ruth 
vehemently. 

"The  employments  that  are  open  to  the  gentle- 
man of  no  profession  are  few,  dear  Ruthie.  If  you 
like  not  the  gaming-house,  I  must  even  try  for  a 
livmg  upon  the  turf." 

"  What  is  done  upon  the  turf  ?  Would  you  turn 
gardener,  Harry  ?  " 

"  Nay,  child !  I  would  act  as  the  agent  of  gentle- 
men who  would  buy  or  sell  nmning  horses." 

"  I  like  not  that  either,"  she  declared. 

"Then,  sweetheart,  I  must  write  for  the  book- 
sellers." 

"  Dear  Harry,"  said  Ruth  gravely,  "  I  am  indeed 
sorry  to  think  you  cannot  devise  a  decent  way  of 

living." 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  marvel- 
lously thin  waiter  with  unhappy  eyes,  who  came  that 
moment  to  prepare  the  table.  Cay  inquired  whether 
they  had  in  the  house  a  London  newspaper.  "  For," 
said  he  in  a  whisper  to  Ruth,  "  I  would  scan  the 
advertisements." 

The  waiter,  wrapped  in  his  melancholy,  appeared 
not  to  notice  the  question,  since  he  made  no  sign ; 
but  upon  his  return,  with  articles  for  the  table,  he 


RUTH  AND  HER  MEDICAL  ATTENDANT     363 

presented  a  folded  sheet  to  Cay,  with  the  cold  state- 
ment: 

"  'Tis  but  a  week  old ;  but,  sir,  in  my  opinion,  a 
very  silly  paper  without  one  dram  of  wit." 

"  Then  I  perceive,  waiter,  you  can  read,"  said  Cay. 

"  Sir,  I  do  far  more  than  read.  I  am  an  author,  sir. 
I  have  latcily  wrote  a  Treatise  on  Mineral  Waters, 
which  I  believe  will  be  found  a  learned  and  valuable 
production,  when  I  have  the  opportunity  to  present  it 
to  the  booksellers." 

"  I  believe  you  will  get  more  money  by  serving 
wine,"  said  Cay. 

"  'Tis  very  likely,  sir.    Are  you  a  Grubaena,  si   '  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  your  question." 

"  Then  I  know  you  are  not  one  of  us.  We  authors, 
sir,  are  wont  to  call  ourselves  Grubaenas,  which  signifies 
a  dweller  in  mean  places  ;  and  when  well  received  by 
the  pubUc,  we  are  apt  to  designate  to  ourselves  the 
lustrous  title  of  Parnassian.  Sir,  I  have  a  plain  and 
mean  exterior  appearance,"  continued  the  unhappy 
waiter.  "  But  could  you  look  into  me,  the  prospect 
would  enlargen,  and  you  would  receive  delightful 
entertainment.  I  trust,  sir,  I  am  not  superfluous  to 
this  lady  and  yourself." 

"  We  are  both  honoured  by  your  confidence,"  said 
Cay. 

"  Then,  sir,  I  shall  certainly  proceed.  There  is  a  set 
of  books  nowadays  that  I  can't  account  for,  nor  yet  see 
the  use  of  them.  I  mean  the  Novels.  I  should  not 
believe  there  could  possibly  exist  such  awkward, 
'yrong-headed  authors,  if  I  had  them  not  before  my 
ey  s.  What  do  these  people  mean  by  translating  the 
bv'-iness  of  life  into  low  and  creeping  pro^  ?  But, 
sir,  there's  another  thing  which  calls  for  animadver- 
sion ;  tii  the  publishing  of  these  common  Maggies, 
^■uii  of  i«wd  stuff  and  dirty  personalities." 

"  Yii.i  r?fer  to  the  Magazines  ?  " 

"  I  do  indeed,  sir.    But  what  frightens  me  most  is 


a64 


HOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


tL:  street  ballads  and  last  confessions.  The  wings  oi 
Minerva  are  clipped,  and  her  classical  gown  is  fouled 
with  mire.  Authorship,  sir,  is  in  mighty  bad  plight 
at  present." 

Is  there  not  Mr.  Addison  ?  "  inquired  Cay. 

"  Mr.  Addison,  sir,  has  a  very  shabby  wit.  He 
writes  ill — very  ill.  His  Spectator — much  prated  of, 
sir — b  no  better  than  a  common  Maggy.  But  there  is 
hope — great  hope,  sir — for  literature."  The  waiter 
ducked  his  head  to  whisper.  "  Next  week  I  go  to 
London." 

"  That  will  be  good  news  for  the  booksellers,"  said 
Cay. 

"  I  believe,  sir,  I  shall  be  given  a  flattering  recep- 
tion. I  should  be  sorry  to  think  I  could  disappoint 
the  public,"  said  the  waiter,  perceptibly  warming. 
"  Besides  my  Treatise  upon  Mineral  Waters  I  have  an 
excellent  Droll  entitled  the  Death  of  Cleopatra.  I 
write,  sir,  with  the  greatest  voracity  and  without  the 
least  vanity.  I  challenge  my  brother  Grubsenas  to 
show  a  category  equal  to  mine.  They  have  all  relied 
upon  some  single  branch  of  science,  as  Divinity  and 
R)etry ;  but  I  have  scorned  to  confine  my  Pegasus. 
A  perfect  Cyclopaedia  may  be  collected  from  my  genius. 
I  have  carried  the  mystery  of  rhyming  to  a  dizzy 
height.  And  I  hope  to  attain  so  vast  an  ascendancy 
over  the  public  that  they  will  turn  to  any  subject  by 
my  advice  and  direction.  Sir,  I  propose,  when  leisure 
affords,  to  do  the  History  of  the  World  in  hexameters 
and  pentameters.  My  extraordinary  way  of  writing 
must  gain  the  admiration  of  the  public,  as  it  has 
already  aroused  the  enmity  of  authors  ;  for  one  gentle- 
man, here  in  Salisbury,  who  is  pleased  to  regard  him- 
self a  scribbler  of  verses,  invited  me  to  a  tavern  under 
pretence  of  reading  his  new  lines ;  and  there,  sir,  he 
put  poison  into  my  mineral  water.  This  merely  con- 
tributed to  my  health,  as  it  proved  to  act  as  physic, 
and  I  was  at  the  time  much  in  need  of  an  emetic 


■siil 


RUTH  AND  HER  MEDICAL  ATTENDANT     265 

Coming,  sir.  coining  1 "  called  the  waiter,  becoming 
again  unhappy  as  he  walked  away. 

Left  again  to  themselves,  Cay  opened  the  soiled 
newspaper,  and  began  to  search  for  the  advertise- 
ments, which  were  not  numerous,  reading  aloud  for 
the  benefit  of  ignorant  Ruth  : 

"  'A  woman  delivered  of  a  child  with  two  faces  like 
Janus ;  and  'tis  said  by  the  superstitious  to  be  an 
emblem  of  universal  peace.  A  worthy  soul,  Jane 
Hooks  of  Hoxton.  aged  one  hundred  and  twelve,  has 
got  a  new  set  of  teeth,  which  drove  out  the  old  stumps. 
In  Scotland  a  minister  of  the  kirk  fined  bv  his  assembly 
for  powdering  his  wig  upon  the  Sabbath.  Yesterday 
the  Queen  cupped  and  blooded  for  her  swelling  in  face 
occasioned  by  violent  cold.  Timbridge  Wells  more 
full  than  ever  was  known,  and  play  higher  than  usual. 
To  be  let,  a  large  warehouse  in  Bartholomew  Close, 
very  fit  for  bookselling  or  the  storing  of  old  lumber. 
Celestial  Anodyne  Tinctiure  cures  everything ;  no 
quack  trifling  thing,  acting  by  stupefaction,  but  a 
hiendly,  balsamic,  and  subtle  medicme.' " 

Cay  rose  with  a  shout,  then  banged  the  newspaper 
on  the  table,  his  fist  upon  it,  and  stared  at  his  sweet- 
heart in  somewhat  frightened  fashion. 

"  What  is  it,  Harry  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Listen,  my  love  I  "  said  Cay.  And  he  proceeded  to 
read  in  a  guarded  voice  : 

" '  At  Winterberry,  near  Salisbury  in  Wiltshire, 
young  ladies  are  boarded,  and  taught  the  various  arts 
of  deportment,  also  writing  and  arithmetic  after  an 
easy  and  peculiar  manner,  by  Eliza  Cay.'  " 

"  Who  is  Eliza  Cay  ?  "  cried  Ruth. 

"  This  means,  sweetheart,  that  my  old  uncle  is  now 
a  married  man  !  " 


;  I 


n 


MICROCOrV   RESOLUTION   TEST  CHART 

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CHAPTER  II 


A  FOOLISH  OLD  GENTLEMAN  ENTERTAINS  TWO 
DISTINGUISHED    GUESTS 

WiNTERBERRY  parish  Stretched  across  the  downs,  its 
church  upon  the  highest  point,  its  manor-house  upon 
the  lowest.  It  was  surrounded  by  roads,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  made  for  pedestrians  and  pur- 
poses of  agriculture  ;  for  no  public  coach  came  within 
five  miles  of  the  village,  which  remains  to  this  day  one 
of  the  loneliest  places  in  the  land.  Uncle  Cay  had  a 
very  pretty  property  and  well-wooded.  Much  time  was 
spent  in  chopping  at  the  wood  ;  an  occupation  which 
kept  him  in  health  and  the  hearth  in  fuel.  He 
looked  a  ferocious  old  gentleman,  as  he  stood  upon 
the  lawn,  with  stiff  gauntlets  and  chopper,  a  black  cap 
upon  his  pate,  for  his  only  decent  periwig  was  not  to  be 
risked  in  the  shrubbery,  and  besides  it  put- him  into  a 
mighty  sweat  upon  a  summer's  day ;  his  stockings  a 
mass  of  ripples,  and  his  small-clothes  unfastened  at 
the  knee.  He  was  not  respectable  in  appearance ; 
but  then  it  was  fooUsh  to  play  the  buck  in  Winter- 
berry,  where  there  were  few  eyes  to  admire,  and  not  a 
tongue  to  flatter. 

Great  trifles  occupied  his  days.  That  morning  it 
was  a  matter  for  deliberation  whether  a  long  branch 
of  sycamore,  the  twigs  of  which  raked  the  window  of 
his  bedroom,  should  be  trimmed,  cut  back,  or  lopped 
off  at  the  trunk.  Should  the  knife  prune,  the  chopper 
hack,  or  the  saw  amputate  ?  Uncle  Cay  was  vexed  by 
the  threefold  head  of  this  portentous  question.  The 
removal  of  the  outer  twigs  would  ensure  more  peaceful 

266 


A  FOOLISH  OLD  GENTLEMAN 


267 


nights ;  the  cutting  back  of  the  branch  would  admit 
more  light ;  while  the  lopping  at  the  trunk  might 
throw  open  a  more  extensive  vista.  But  here  Uncle 
Cay  paused  to  put  the  supplementary  question — 
would  the  vista  be  assured  ?  It  was  by  no  means 
certain,  for  while  the  branch  remained  in  umbrageous 
possession  of  the  window,  no  powers  of  the  human 
imagination  could  foresee  precisely  what  view  would 
be  opened  by  its  fall ;  while  once  removed  it  could 
never  be  restored  should  the  result  be  disappointing. 
So  Uncle  Cay  placed  gloves,  knife,  chopper,  and  saw 
upon  the  turf  ;  then  trotted  off  to  his  bedroom  window 
that  he  might  again  inspect  the  obstructive  briiach 
from  that  point  of  vantage.  His  trifling  labour  was 
not  to  be  laughed  at,  for  a  century  later  grave  and 
learned  gentlemen  of  Winterberry  were  vexed  in  soul 
by  precisely  identical  problems. 

In  the  ordinary  course  of  things  a  full  hour  would 
have  been  employed  in  estimating  the  amount  of 
space  occupied  by  the  bough,  what  daylight  it  dis- 
placed, what  air  it  excluded,  with  a  hundred  lesser 
details,  more  particularly  concerning  other  trees  in 
the  immediate  background ;  but  the  speculations  of 
Uncle  Cay  were  brought  to  nought  presently  by  the 
most  astonishing  apparition  of  a  young  lady,  who 
appeared  at  the  shrubbery  turning,  and  tripped 
towards  the  door,  bringing  amazement  to  the  mind  of 
Uncle  Cay  and  reprieve  to  the  branch  of  sycamore. 

"  A  maiden  alone  !  And  a  woundy  pretty  one," 
muttered  the  old  gentleman,  whose  eyes  were  well 
enough.  Then  he  ran  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and 
called  excitedly : 

"  Eliza !  Our  first  pupil  is  about  to  sound  the 
knocker.    And,  by  heaven,  she  will  do  !  " 

An  elderly  woman  came  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
pulling  o&  an  apron,  and  attempting  to  wipe  her 
hands  with  it  at  the  same  time. 

"  I  saw  her  from  the  kitchen " 


S«J 


268 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  There  goes  the  door  !  "  cried  Uncle  Cay. 

"  The  young  lady  cannot  be  a  pupil,  for  'tis  not 
likely  she  would  come  alone,  ou  foot,  and  bring  no 
luggage." 

"  A  letter  may  have  miscarried — or  it  may  be  she 
has  travelled  faster  than  the  mail.  A  chaise  may  be 
waiting  at  the  gate.  Remember  what  I  taught  you, 
Eliza !  Show  her  the  scheme  for  the  classes  which 
I  wrote  out.  And  use  her  with  great  tenderness, 
Eliza." 

Uncle  Cay  was  unbuttoning  as  he  spoke,  standing 
in  a  position  of  perfect  privacy ;  and,  while  Eliza 
made  for  the  door,  he  ran  to  the  press  for  his  pedagogic 
garments  ;  rejoiced  to  discover  the  wig  upon  its  block 
in  fairly  good  curl ;  listening  his  hardest,  and  chuck- 
ling in  vast  content,  when  a  fresh  young  voice  could 
be  heard  distinctly  asking,  "  Is  not  this  the  Academy 
of  Eliza  Cay  ?  " 

"  It  is,  young  lady,"  replied  the  woman.  "  Will 
you  step  inside  and  be  seated  ?  And  may  I  bring 
you  a  glass  of  gooseberry  or  of  cowslip  wine  ?  " 

"  Port  wine,  you  fool !  Port  for  pretty  pupils  !  " 
muttered  Uncle  Cay,  while  he  struggled  into  a  clean 
shirt. 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  replied  Ruth.  "Will  you 
infOTm  Mrs.  Cay  I  wait  upon  her  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  lady  you  wish  to  see,"  came  the 
answer ;  and  Uncle  Cay  swore,  because  he  knew  that 
the  subsequent  silence  implied  an  awkward  interval. 

"  I  shoiild  be  glad  to  know  upon  what  terms  young 
ladies  are  admitted  to  your  Academy,"  continued 
Ruth  somewhat  pertly. 

"  I  will  bring  you  the  paper,"  said  Eliza. 

"  Prospectus,  blockhead !  "  groaned  Uncle  Cay, 
while  he  fastened  his  neckband. 

"  I  perceive  young  ladies  are  here  taught  to  dance, 
to  use  the  fan,  and  to  flirt  the  handkerchief,"  said 
Ruth. 


A  FOOLISH  OLD  GENTLEMAN 


269 


"    ry  genteel  accomplishments,  young  lady." 
30  writing  in  an  elegantly  sloping  hand,  and 
PAith-iietic  after  an  easy  method." 

"  Very  useful  occupations,  yoimg  lady." 

"  No  fees  are  mentioned." 

"  That  matter  can  be  arranged,"  said  Eliza 
pleasantly. 

"  Are  there  many  pupils  ?  " 

"  None  at  the  present  time.    You  are  the  first." 

"  The  zany  !  She  will  spoil  all.  Why  was  I  not 
dressed  for  this  occasion  ?  "  gasped  Uncle  Cay,  as  he 
drew  on  white  stockings,  then  searched  in  vain  for  his 
silver-buckled  shoes. 

"  Does  not  Mr.  Cay  dwell  here  ?  "  inquired  Ruth, 
feeling  that  information  was  reaching  her  in  patches. 

"  He  is  engaged  in  his  studies,  young  lady,  and 
must  not  be  disturbed  until  I  hear  his  door  open.  He 
is  a  very  learned  gentleman  and  most  kindly." 

"  The  gentleman  who  is  my  guardian  waits  outside," 
said  Ruth,  prevaricating  with  a  blush ;  for  Cay  stood 
a  full  mile  from  the  house,  although  it  was  true  he  acted 
as  her  guardian.  "  You  must  faxow,  Mrs.  Cay,  I  am 
an  orphan,  and  a  young  lady  of  fortune,  but  my 
education  has  been  so  much  neglected  that  I  do  not 
even  know  my  letters." 

"  This  is  mighty  fine  !  "  said  Uncle  Cay,  as  he  with- 
drew his  head  from  the  passage,  to  powder  his  wig  and 
scent  his  handkerchief.  "  A  young  lady  of  fortune, 
egad  1  An  orphan,  egad !  Cannot  tell  her  letters  ! 
Zounds,  but  I'll  teach  her  !  " 

"  That  was  the  master's  door,  I  believe,"  said  Eliza. 
"  Ay,  I  hear  him  coming.  Mr.  Cay,  here  is  a  young 
lady  who  desires  to  become  a  pupil." 

"  Why  was  I  not  informed  of  this  honour  ?  " 
demanded  the  old  gentleman  in  great  severity  of  tone, 
mincing  downstairs,  shaking  his  lace  ruffles,  holding  a 
perfumed  handkerchief  between  finger  and  thumb. 
"  Young  lady,  your  most  obedient  servant." 


'i; 


270 


MOYLE  CHUPCH-TOWN 


Ruth  smiled  in  her  best  fashion,  rose  and  curtseyed 
to  Uncle  Cay,  who  turned  in  his  toes  and  capered  to 
her  side  with  the  utmost  alacrity  ;  while  she  resumed 
her  seat,  conscious  of  dusty  shoes,  and  murmured  her 
apologies  for  arriving  in  this  imexpected  fashion. 

"  My  t^iardian  and  I  have  come  a  long  journey," 
she  explained. 

"  And  you  are  now  exceeding  weary,"  cried  Uncle 
Cay,  with  more  admiration  than  was  needful.  "  Eliza, 
a  glass  of  port  wine  for  the  illustrious  pupil." 

"  I  thank  you,  but  I  drink  no  wine,"  said  Ruth. 
"  We  saw  your  advertisement  by  chance,  sir,  in  the 
Morning  Advertiser  ;  and  as  my  education  has  been 
much  neglected " 

"  We  discuss  no  business  till  you  are  rested,"  inter- 
rupted Uncle  Cay.  "  EUza,  tell  the  maid  to  prepare 
a  chamber — the  best — for  this  distinguished  pupil. 
And  Eliza !  let  us  have  early  dinner — and  a  capon 
roasted.  And  Eliza  1  open  the  packet  of  Bohea 
which  I  brought  from  Salisbury.  My  dear  young 
lady,  oblige  me  by  making  use  of  this  gilt  foot- 
stool." 

"  But,  sir,  you  have  not  listened  to  me,"  cried  Ruth 
in  some  dismay.  "  Indeed,  I  am  not  weary,  as  we 
lay  last  night  at  Salisbury,  and  this  morning  have 
but  ridden  from  the  city.    My  guardian  waits  outside. 

You  will  surely  wonder  why  he  has  not  entered  with 

...»  " 
me. 

"  I  do  assure  you,  dear  young  lady,  all  the  curiosity 
within  me  is  strained  to  breaking-point,"  declared 
Uncle  Cay. 

"  I  have  a  confession  to  make,  sir." 

"  Why  do  you  stay,  Eliza  ?  "  asked  Uncle  Ca^ .  "  I 
have  given  my  orders — the  best  chamber  to  be 
prepared,  a  capon  to  be  roasted,  the  Bohea  for  this 
young  lady — and  rum-punch  for  myself,"  added  the 
disgraceful  pedagogue. 

"  Does  Mrs.   Cay   teach  ?      inquired   Ruth  in  a 


A  FOOLISH  OLD  GENTLEMAN 


271 


wondering  voice,  when  the  obviously  unlearned 
woman  had  departed. 

"  My  priceless  pupil !  "  cried  the  old  gentleman 
with  tremendous  vigour.  "  The  good  lady  manages, 
she  caters,  she  plays  the  sacred  part  of  chaperon.  In 
the  schoolroom  she  is  but  a  looker-on.  She  sits  with 
her  sewing  as  it  might  be  there,  while  I  sta^.a  with  my 
book  as  it  might  be  here ;  for  I  am  the  teacher, 
beauteous  pupU.  'Tis  I  that  rear  the  tender  feet  to 
minuets,  and  show  pink  fingers  how  to  shoot  the  fan. 
Nor  am  I  neglectfid  of  such  minor  accomplishments 
as  writing  and  arithmetic  ;  having  indeed  invented  an 
easy  fashion  for  the  acquiring  of  both  these  arts.  Yet 
'tis  in  the  more  genteel  accomplishments  I  pride  myself." 

"  Are  you  not  desirous,  sir,  to  hear  my  confession  ?  " 
SLsked  Ruth,  somewhat  bewildered  by  this  capering 
little  pedagogue. 

"  First  of  pupils— the  best !  "  cried  Uncle  Cay.  "  I 
am  upon  hot  coals  of  expectancy  all  this  while." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Ruth,  flushing  in  the  prettiest 
fashion.  "  my  guardian  is  your  nephew." 

"  Zounds  I    My  rogue  of  a  nephew.  Job  !  " 

"  TV  3  same,  sir.  But  he  is  better  known  to  me  as 
Mr.  Harry." 

"  That  young  scoundrel  guardian  of  a  yoimg  lady 
of  fortune,  of  great — nay,  of  surpassing,  beauty  1 
Why,  he  must  be  a  fine  gentleman  I  He  has  shot  up 
in  the  world.  My  lovely  pupil  1  I  am  your  master, 
and  I  am  at  once  to  teach  your  ignorance  how 
dangerous  it  is  to  be  associated  with  a  scamp." 

"  I  find  your  nephew  a  gentleman.  He  is  much 
improved  since  you  parted  from  him,"  said  Ruth  with 
dignity. 

"  Maybe  I  Maybe  I  I  knew  there  was  gentility  in 
Job.  But  he  is  a  sad  dog,  my  dear  pupil.  Would  go 
after  wenches,  and  talk  me  down  at  my  own  table. 
Your  guardian !  Why,  the  dog  must  have  his  pockets 
full  of  money." 


273  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

"  You  must  know  I  am  ar  phan,  Mr.  Cay,  and 
have  no  knowledge  of  my  parents.  I  am  not  now 
disposed  to  tell  you  by  what  strange  chance  your 
nephew  became  my  guardian.  Let  me  say  he  has 
been  faithful  to  me,  while  my  contidence  in  him  is 
imbounded.  I  believe  he  was  once  somewhat  loose  in 
his  character ;  but  he  has  now  come  right." 

"  I  shall  watch  yoiu:  interests,  I  promise  you," 
said  the  old  man  heartily. 

"  I  am  most  willing  to  place  myself  under  your 
charge,"  said  Ruth  respectfully.  "  But,  sir,  I  may 
not  remain  in  this  house  without  my  guardian's  con- 
sent." 

"  A  fig  for  Job's  consent !  Why,  he  must  have 
given  it  already  since  he  brought  you  here." 

"  And  without  his  presence,  sir." 

"  Zounds  !  Dost  mean,  young  lady,  you  require 
Job  to  come  into  my  house,  and  eat  at  my  table — and 
run  after  my  pupils— and  drink  my  wine  ?  Nay,  I 
shall  never  consent  to  that." 

"  I  go  then  to  my  guardian,"  said  Ruth,  rising,  "  and 
inform  him  we  are  not  to  receive  a  welcome." 

"  We  !  "  cried  Uncle  Cay.  "  Be  seated,  fair  pupil, 
and  receive  your  first  lesson  in  etymology  and  syntax. 
We— plural  of  I.  Example,  you,  I,  and  others.  I— 
nominative  case,  singular,  Latin  ego.  Example,  I 
stay.  He — ^masculine  pronoun  of  the  third  person, 
'ixample,  he  goes.  Illustrated  also  by  the  homely 
proverb,  '  Two's  company,  three's  none.' " 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  although  you  teach  me  nothing," 
Ruth  replied.  "  With  my  guardian  I  stay,  without 
him  I  go.  I  bring  a  message  from  your  nephew.  He 
desires  to  be  reconciled  with  his  only  living  relative, 
and  he  begs  your  acceptance  of  a  very  handsome 
horse." 

"  Job  is  my  own  flesh  and  blood,  you  see  ;  and  for 
my  part  I  always  professed  friendship  for  him,"  said 
Uncle  Cay.    "  Is  it  a  colt  or  filly,  my  dear  ?    What 


A  FOOLISH  OLD  GENTLEMAN        27J 

breeding  has  it  ?  I'll  find  that  out  by  the  make  of  his 
pastern.  He  may  have  got  some  knowledge  in  the 
mysteries  of  the  turf.  He  may  be  of  consequence  in 
the  racing  world.  I'U  do  something  for  him.  Say  no 
nore,  my  pretty  pupil ;  no  more  words  to  this  matter. 
I  "J  do  for  him  ;  I'll  invite  him  to  my  house.  Bring 
him  to  me  and  I'll  give  him  a  hearty  welcome,  od- 
zc'okers  I  will,  for  your  sake.  Eliza  I  let  the  maid 
prepare  two  bedrooms.  My  nephew  has  returned.  He 
may  be  an  Arabian  barb  for  all  I  know.  He  shall  have 
the  best  stall  in  the  stable.  I  told  you,  Eliza,  he  would 
make  a  fine  gentleman  one  of  these  days,  and  return 
to  Winterberry  with  a  fortune." 

Ruth  slipped  towards  the  door ;  but  the  old  gentle- 
man was  by  no  means  ready  to  see  her  go  and  followed 
protesting  his  willingness  to  make  the  journey  him- 
self. This  Ruth  would  not  allow  and,  drawing  herself 
free  from  the  ardent  pedagogue,  she  hurried  to  a  chalk- 
pit beyond  the  village  where  Harry  had  engaged  to 
wait  for  her. 

"  The  old  rascal  plays  at  some  game.  This  scheme 
of  his  is  nothing  but  a  trick,  but  it  comes  mighty  handy 
to  our  purpose.  He  shall  teach  you,  while  I  super- 
intend his  stables,  until  your  diamonds  are  sold  ;  and 
then  we  marry  in  Winterberry  church  and  drive  off  to 
happiness." 

So  spake  Harry,  but  Ruth  had  some  conscientious 
scruples  which  she  expressed  by  the  question,  "  Are 
we  not  deceiving  the  old  gentleman  ?  " 

"  We  must  do  so,"  Cay  answered.  "  For  mind  you, 
sweetheart,  if  the  old  rogue  thought  we  had  no  money 
he  would  set  the  dogs  on  us.  What  manner  of  a 
woman  is  my  aunt  ?  " 

"  She  is  dull  and  gross.  She  must  be  near  sixty 
years  of  age.  I  was  much  taken  aback  when  she  told 
me  her  name  ;  for  I  had  supposed  she  was  the  cook." 

"  I  teU  ye  again,  sweetheart,  he  old  fox  plays  some 
game.    The  baggage  is  never  his  wife.    He  was  one  of 


274 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


your  hard-sldimed  old  bachelors  when  I  left  him  ;  and 
to  speak  the  truth  I  found  him  blind  to  women; 
though  it  was  said  he  ogled  the  wenches  from  his  pew 
in  church.  Yet  a  man  may  do  that  as  a  harmless 
recreation." 

"  Harry,  I  must  have  a  name,"  she  whispered. 

"  I  had  thought  of  that.  I  shall  call  you  Miss  Just," 
he  answered. 

They  mou  ted  the  horse,  which  had  served  them  so 
well,  and  rode  through  the  deserted  village — for  men 
and  women  were  at  work  in  the  fields — ^to  the  gate  of 
the  manor.  Immediately  Uncle  Cay  came  running 
along  the  carriage  sweep,  shouting  in  vast  excitement : 

"  Zounds,  he's  a  good  'un  I  I  can  see  that  by  the 
way  he  moves.  Got  by  a  racer,  I  warrant.  Will  win  a 
plate  at  Newmarket.  Let  me  see  his  teeth — open 
your  mouth,  my  beauty.  Thunder,  he's  four  years 
old  I  Can  carry  weight — ^will  win  a  handicap.  Give 
me  your  hand,  Job.  I  thought  you  had  grown  a 
gentleman  and  forgot  us  all." 

"  I  am  sorry,  sir,  for  the  way  I  abused  your  kind- 
ness. I  trust  to  please  you  better  m  the  future,"  said 
the  nephew  bluntly. 

"  You  have  been  a  sad  dog,  Job.  As  you  are  my 
own  flesh  and  blood,  do  ye  see,  I'll  say  no  more  about 
it.  You  bring  me  a  fine  horse  and  a  fair  pupU.  Where 
is  your  luggage  ?  " 

"  Here,"  said  Ruth,  pointing  to  the  pack,  which 
the  kindness  of  Lady  Just  had  provided  for  her. 

'  ;mall  bundle,  egad,  for  a  young  lady  of  quality," 
said  ^ncle  Cay  suspiciously. 

"  I  have  less,  and  must  seek  from  you  an  intro- 
duction to  the  best  tailor  in  Sahsbury.  This  yoxmg 
lady  and  I  have  been  most  unfortunately  robbed  of 
all  that  we  possessed,"  declared  Harry,  bringing  a 
flush  to  his  young  lady's  face. 

"  Eh  !  "  cried  Uncle  Cay.   "  All  that  you  possessed." 

"  We  have  but  ten  guineas  between  us  as  w;  stand. 


A  FOOLISH  OLD  GENTLEMAN         275 

We  are  fleeced,  uncle,  and  to  speak  plainly  we  did  well 
to  escape  with  our  lives." 

"  A  pretty  business,"  muttered  the  old  gentleman. 
••  I  must  have  a  word  with  you  in  private,  Job.  Young 
lady,  oblige  me  by  entering  the  house,  and  making 
yourself  at  home.    Lead  the  horse  to  the  stable.  Job." 

"  I  believe  you  are  married,  uncle,"  said  the  young 
man,  immediately  Ruth  had  turned  her  back  upon 

them. 

"  Married,  you  rogue  !  "  cried  Uncle  Cay. 

"  Eliza  Cay  here  instructs  young  ladies " 

"  Fudge  1  Thou  art  a  fool,"  said  the  old  man  testily. 
"  Hast  forgotten  old  Liz,  my  housekeeper  ?  A  gentle- 
man does  not  open  an  .icademy  for  your"  ladies, 
therefore  I  put  the  business  in  the  name  of  Eiiza  Cay, 
and  would  let  it  be  thought  by  parents  she  is  my  wife." 

"  What  is  your  purpose,  uncle,  in  opening  this 

Academv  ?  " 

"  I'll  hear  no  more  questions.  Y^  a  shall  know  soon 
enough,  and  'twill  be  when  I  learn  something  more  of 
this  young  lady  and  yourself." 

This  important  conversation  did  not  take  place 
at  once,  as  Uncle  Cay  was  kept  well  occupied  in  trying 
the  paces  of  the  horse,  and  satisfied  by  attempting  to 
Iraw  up  its  pedigree  ;  over  the  wine  he  talked  of  little 
else,  and  appeared  to  avoid  the  subject  of  Ruth, 
whom  he  pestered  with  his  attentions  as  master  :  one 
hour  of  dancing,  another  of  reading,  the  next  of 
f 'rting,  although  the  old  fellow  did  not  know  the  steps 
.f  the  mi  iuet  m  ,1  himself  required  a  spelUng-master ; 
but  concemin;.  ae  ai  ts  of  flirtation  he  possessed  some 
knowledge.  Hov*ever,  Ruth  did  not  much  understand 
his  by-play  wt»*i  handkerchief  and  snuff-box,  and 
proved  an  iV  t''  wKn  mvited  to  respond  to  his 
various  acts  <  try. 

Uncle  Cay  «oased  to  speak  by  three  incidents. 

The  greatest  f^    =?se  was  the  rebellion  of  Ivuth.  who 
intimated  with  ti*e  utmost  plainness  that  she  regarded 


a76 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


dancing  rts  a  piofane  pastime,  and  further  declined  to 
attend  the  parish  church  on  Sunday.  The  second  was 
a  request  from  Harry  for  an  introduction  to  the  best 
tailor  in  Salisbury.  While  the  third  was  a  windy  ni^ht 
which  kept  the  twigs  of  the  offending  branch  rakmg 
his  window  in  perpetual  discord. 

Upon  the  Monday  morning  Harry  borrowed  his  own 
horse  to  journey  into  town,  and  Ruth  insisted  upon 
going  with  him  as  far  as  the  chalk-pit ;  contrary  to 
the  instructions  of  the  pedagogue,  who  waited  to  give 
her  a  lesson  in  words  of  one  syllable.  The  young  man 
was  carrying  to  the  post  a  letter,  which  he  had  written 
the  previous  day,  giving  Sir  Thomas  Just  their  address 
and  pressing  him  to  turn  the  diamond  necklace  inl  ■ 
cash  as  soon  as  possible,  and  appoint  a  meeting-plac- 
for  the  hanc'ing  over  of  the  money.  They  also  required 
a  small  surr.  a  advance. 

"  The  sooner  we  are  out  of  Winterberry  the  better," 
said  Ruth.  "  I  did  not  like  to  hear  you  call  your  imcle 
an  old  scoundrel,  but  I  be^reve  now  you  judged  Wm 
fairly.  He  has  taught  Wmself  a  very  unpleasant  trick 
of  ogling.  And  as  for  teaching  me  to  read  and  write — 
why,  my  dear  Harry,  he  finds  more  interest  in  my 
ankles  than  my  brains." 

"  The  old  fellow  has  reached  his  second  youth,"  said 
Harry.  "  He  understands  he  wasted  his  first  and  has 
a  very  shrewd  idea  he  will  not  bt  ilowed  a  third. 
When  I  return  there  may  be,  I  fea  something  of  a 
storm  ;  for  after  breakfast  he  drew  me  aside,  and 
said  he  had  a  few  questic-'?  to  put  to  me  this 
evening." 

"  He  has  asked  mc  .«veral  about  my  parents,  but 
chiefly  concerning  my  fortune.  I  would  not  answer 
him." 

"  He  grows  suspicious,  but  I  shall  settle  him." 

"  With  the  truth,  Harry.  No  more  'ies,  I  beg  of  you. 
Let  us  speak  the  truth  if  we  are  to  be  turned  out  upon 
the  plain  for  it." 


A  FOOLISH  OLD  GENTLEMAN         277 

i^ave  it  to  me,  love,"  said  Cay.  We  arc  to  get 
through  the  world  as  best  we  can,"  he      ied  darkly. 

Ru^h  returned  to  the  manor,  and  ^as  there  in- 
structed to  r)ccupy  the  ^-our  of  study  in  skipping  and 
jumping,  to  increase  her  agility  and  grace  :  the  peda- 
gor  T  leaping  before  her  as  a  model  and  an  ex  niple  tn 
be  avoi'^c.  .  for  his  knees  were  stiff,  but  Ruth  soon 
decluiec  co  exhibit  her  grace  and  angles,  demanding 
instead  a  lesson  in  caligraphy,  which  was  granted  with 
reluctance  and  bad  spelling. 

During  the  afternoon  she  escaped  and  walked  in  the 
country  ;  while  Uncle  Cay,  after  an  ineffectual  search 
for  his  pupil,  lost  his  temper,  seized  an  axe,  and  removed 
the  offending  branch  of  sycamore  by  the  radical 
method  of  felling  the  tree — and  wkj  ever  afterwards 
afforded  from  his  bedroom  window  an  uninterrupted 
prospect  of  his  row  of  pigsties. 

Harry  returned  during  early  evening,  and  discovered 
his  faithful  sweetheart  waiting  near  the  chalk-pit.  He 
appeared  somewhat  ill  at  ease,  but  when  Ruth  sought 
to  know  the  cause  he  laughed  and  swore  it  was  nothing. 

"  The  tadlor's  assistant — a  rogue  inclined  to  be  in- 
solent— appeared  to  recognise  me.  He  asked  me  a 
few  question"^  concerning  my  previous  tailor,  which  I 
did  not  choose  to  answer.  I  thought  maybe  he  ^lad 
seen  me  when  I  dwelt  formerly  with  my  uncle,  but  he 
deckured  he  had  not  been  long  in  Salisbury." 

"  Had  you  seen  him  before,  Harry  ?  "  asked  Ruth. 

"  Never,  sweetheart.  I  have  a  memory  for  faces, 
and  had  the  fellow  ever  passed  by  me  on  the  road  I 
should  not  have  forgot  his  ugly  features." 

"  I  trust  no  ill  wind  is  blowing,"  she  murmured. 

"  'Tis  nothing,  little  one.  The  rascal  saw  I  was 
shabby,  and  thought  he  might  try  his  insolence  upon 
a  broken  gentleman.  I  go  next  week  to  have  my  new 
coat  fitted,  and  if  he  tries  to  play  this  game  a  second 
time  I  call  the  master." 

"  When  does  Sir  Thomas  receive  our  letter  ?  " 


'f.::i 


278 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  Upon  the  third  day  from  now,  if  the  mail  do  not 
miscarry.  We  may  receive  an  answer  about  the  time 
I  go  to  have  my  coat  fitted.  How  has  the  day  gone, 
Ruthie  ?  " 
"  In  foolery,"  she  answered. 
After  a  good  dinier,  when  Ruth  had  retired  to 
wander  in  the  garder*,  Uncle  Cay,  who  was  well  into 
the  second  bottle,  opened  business  with  the  observa- 
tion: 

"  Wild  courses  will  never  do,  Job.  I  don't  begrudge 
a  young  fellow  his  fling,  but  why  must  he  always  pay 
so  confounded  dear  for  it  ?  I  make  allowances — ^we 
are  all  flesh  and  blood— but  at  your  age  I  had  as  much 
prudence  as  I  possess  now.  I  would  cut  as  pretty  a 
figure  with  the  ladies  as  any  young  dog  of  to-<^y, 
and  without  any  of  his  expense.  I  made  every  wench 
a  compliment,  but  look  ye,  Job,  I  never  gave  a  present 
for  a  kiss.  And  now  I  am  as  young  in  flesh  and  blood 
as  ever  I  was." 

"  Very  true,  sir,"  said  the  nephew  respectfully. 

"  A  fine  maid,  egad  !  What  fortune  has  she.  Job  ? 
How  came  you  to  be  appointed  her  guardian  ?  Has 
she  no  relations  ?  I  would  hear  the  complete  history 
of  her  family." 

"  That  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you,  sir." 

"  You  trifle  with  me.  Job.  I  will  hear  the  true  state 
of  affairs  before  I  finish  this  bottle,  or  I  shall  suspect 
the  pair  of  ye  to  be  little  better  than  vagabonds." 

"  'Tis  a  story  you  may  find  hard  to  believe — a  very 
remarkable  story,  sir,  I  do  assure  you.  As  I  have 
already  told  you.  Miss  Just  is  a  young  lady  of  great 
fortune." 

"  What  is  the  amoimt  ?  "  asked  Uncle  Cay. 

"To  tell  the  truth,  sir,  I  hardly  know  myself, 
but  her  jewels  alone  are  valued  at  twenty  thousand 
pounds,"  said  the  young  man  recklessly. 

"  Have  you  documentary  evidence  ?  "  cried  the  old 
gentleman. 


A  FOOLISH  OLD  GENTLEMAN         279 

"  You  have  my  word,  sir." 

"  Your  word,  sir !  That  is  not  evidence.  In  this 
matter  we  must  have  legal  proof." 

"  Next  week  Mrs.  Ruth  will  be  receiving  a  letter  from 
Sir  Thomas  Just  regarding  the  sale  of  a  portion  of  her 
jewels.    I  imdertake  that  you  shall  see  this  letter." 

"  This  Sir  Thomas  Just  is  then  a  relation.  How  is 
it,  sir,  he  was  not  appointed  guardian  in  the  place  of 
you — a  stranger  ?  " 

"  Sir,  that  is  part  of  my  adventure." 

"  Tell  me  the  whole  of  this  adventure." 

"  I  believe  Sir  Thomas  is  very  distantly  connected," 
said  the  unhappy  nephew.  "  He  is  a  great  gentleman, 
while  Mrs.  Ruth's  unfortunate  father  had  lowered 
himself  by  trading.  He  made  a  great  fortune  by 
growing  the  tobacco-plant." 

"  Well,  sir,"  cried  Uncle  Cay,  "  why  should  he  not 
have  grown  the  tobacco-plant?  How  should  we 
smoke,  sir,  or  enjoy  our  pinch,  if  worthy  merchants  did 
not  grow  the  weed,  and  ship  it  to  us  in  England  ?  " 

"  Very  true,  sir,  but  'tis  not  the  occupation  of  a 
gentleman." 

"  I  would  as  Uef  enjoy  a  fortune  made  out  of  tobacco 
as  any  other.  There  is  nothing  dishonourable  in  the 
growing  of  tobacco,  or  the  shipping  of  tobacco,  or  the 
smoking  of  tobacco,"  cried  Uncle  Cay,  pounding  the 
mahogany  with  excited  fists.  "  But  your  adventure, 
as  you  are  pleased  to  call  it,  had  nothing  of  tobacco  in 
it,  I  beUeve,  except  the  smoke.  You  are  a  rogue  for 
trifling.  Job." 

"  I  shall  be  plain  with  you,  sir,  and  I  shall  also  be 
brief,"  said  the  harassed  nephew.  "  After  the  un- 
happy dissension,  which  caused  me  to  leave  you,  I 
foimd  myself  thrown  upon  my  resources,  and  for  a 
time  wandered  through  the  country,  endeavouring  to 
obtain  an  honest  Uving  by  offering  various  commodities 
for  sale ;  such  as  chemical  washballs  for  beautifying 
the  skin,  and  blistering-plasters  of  my  own  invention. 


:!.; 


m 


aSo 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


I  came  after  a  while  to  Cornwall,  and  while  going 
through  the  villages  of  the  northern  coast  a  great 
storm  blew  one  night — ^for  it  was  winter — and  many 
vessels  were  destroyed  upon  the  rocks,  towarcb 
which  they  had  been  partly  drawn  by  the  flares  of 
the  wreclrers.  So  I  went  to  the  beach  in  the  hope  of 
rendering  some  assistance,  and  by  chance  a  raft  was 
flung  ashore,  and  lashed  to  it  were  two  ladies — ^mother 
and  daughter — the  father  havmg  unfortunately  been 
washed  away." 

"  Was  there  any  witness  ?  "  asked  Uncle  Cay. 

"  No,  sir.  I  stood  alone,  and  the  night  was  very 
dark.  I  drew  the  ladies  into  a  place  of  safety,  and 
then  perceived  that  the  mother  was  on  the  point  of 
death.  With  her  last  breath,  sir,  she  implored  me  to 
act  as  guardian  to  her  daughter,  and  with  her  last 
action  pointed  to  a  bag  which  was  fastened  securely 
to  her.  This  contained  the  jewels,  title-deeds  of  the 
father's  property,  and  his  will  appointing  his  daughter 
and  only  child  sole  heiress." 

"  Was  there  no  executor.  Job  ?  " 

"  The  mother  was  sole  executor,  sir." 

"  A  very  notable  adventure.  Job." 

"  A  very  wonderful  adventure,  sir." 

"  Where  are  these  papers  ?  " 

"  In  the  charge,  sir,  of  Mr.  Jacob  Grambla,  a  clever 
and  noted  attorney  of  the  church-town  of  Moyle,  in 
the  county  of  Cornwall." 

"  You  have  no  fortune.  Job  ?  " 

"  I  have  nothing,  sir,  save  what  Miss  Just  allows  me." 

"  You  respect  your  uncle,  I  hope.  Job  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,  sir." 

"  Then  we  will  have  another  bottle." 

This  was  partly  consumed  before  Unde  Cay  spoke 
again: 

"  A  very  wonderful  story,  Job,  and  an  amazing 
pretty  maid.  I  trust  her  title  to  the  fortune  is  not 
disputed  ?  " 


A  FOOLISH  OLD  GENTLEMAN         281 

"  Sir,  there  is  neither  man  nor  woman  who  is  able  to 
dispute  it." 
"  And  it  is  undoubtedly  a  large  fortune  ? 
"  A  very  large  fortune,  sir." 
"And  this  Mr.  Jacob  Grambla  proves  a  worthy 

atttrney  ?  "  .   „ 

"  A  liberal  and  open-handed  gentleman,  sir. 
"  You  have  wondered.  Job,  at  my  plan  for  opening 
an  Academy  to  receive  yoxmg  ladies  ?  " 

"When  I  saw  your  advertisement,  sk,  I  could 
hardly  believe  my  eyes." 

"  I  will  be  plain  with  you.  Job,  and  brief  as  you  were 

with  me.    I  have  a  great  fondness  for  you.  Job." 

"  I  am  much  obUged  to  you,  sir." 

"  We  are  flesh  and  blood,  therefore  we  shall  rely  on 

one  another.    I  wasted  my  youth,  and  idled  away  my 

manhood.    Now  I  would  begin  again.    I  would  enter 

into  wedlock.  Job.   I  conceived  this  idea  of  an  Academy 

under  the  management  of  worthy  old  Liz,  might  bring 

into  my  house  young  ladies — ^they  are  few  indeed  in 

this  neighbourhood,  and  such  as  there  are  do  not  show 

a  proper  respect  for  me— and  such  young  ladies  I 

might  consider  with  an  attentive  eye,  which  would 

consider  firstly  youth,  secondly  beauty,  thirdly  fortune  ; 

for  you  must  know,  Job,  I  am  not  avaricious  of  ttas 

world's  goods.   It  was  a  mighty  fine  idea  I  think.  Job." 

"  A  very  happy  idea,  sir." 

"  I  beUeve  it  was  an  inspiration,  Job.  Was  it  not  a 
strange  thing  that  your  eyes  should  have  fallen  upon 
the  advertisement ;  and  that  my  first  pupil  should 
have  been  Mrs.  Ruth  who,  I  take  it.  Job,  possesses 
youth,  beauty,  and  fortune,  in  very  excellent  pro- 
portions ? "  ,, 
"  It  was  indeed,  sir,  a  remarkable  coincidence. 
"  It  was  providential,  sir.  We  will  have  another 
bottle,  Job.  I  love  and  esteem  you,  nephew.  I 
propose  to  relieve  you  of  all  duties,  yet  I  undertake 
you  shall  not  lose.    I  shall  make  provision  for  you, 


382 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


job.  You  shall  receive  from  me  an  income  of  two 
hundred  pounds." 

"  Upon  conditions,  sir  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  impose  no  conditions.  You  shall  live 
where  you  like,  and  how  you  please.  You  did  well 
for  all  of  us  when  you  brought  this  yoimg  lady  to  my 
house.  You  have  become  reconciled  to  your  own 
flesh  and  blood,  which  is  a  happy  thing.  You  have 
obtained  a  sure  income  for  life,  which  is  also  a  happy 
thing.  And  you  have  introduced  your  ward  to  as 
gallant  an  old  fellow  as  may  be  found  in  this  county 
of  Wiltshire  ;  which  I  believe  is  the  happiest  thing  of 
all.  For  I  have  the  honour  to  inform  you.  Job,  that  I 
am  determined  to  make  Mistress  Ruth  my  very 
worthy  lady — ^and  I  propose  to  lose  no  time  about  it." 


CHAPTER  III 

A  VERY  CURIOUS  FORM  OF  HOSPITALITY 

From  that  hour  Uncle  Cay  displayed  a  singular  selfish- 
ness with  regard  to  Ruth.  Upon  one  of  the  rare  oppor- 
tunities when  guardian  and  ward  were  able  to  enjoy 
each  other's  company,  they  escaped  upon  the  downs 
and  discussed  their  distressing  comedy;  which  re- 
quired only  negligence  on  the  part  of  Sir  Thomas  to 
promise  a  dark  ending.  For  Uncle  Cay  pressed  i^ 
suit  with  the  impatience  of  age  and  the  ardour  of  youth. 
There  was  an  end  to  reading,  writmg,  and  arithmetic  ; 
but  exercises  ir,  the  arts  of  love  went  on  from  mom  to 

eve. 

"All  this  comes  of  not  speaking  the  truth,"  said 
Ruth,  far  too  unhappy  to  talk  severely.  "  We  longed 
to  find  shelter  in  Winterberry,  and  have  but  run  our- 
selves into  a  trap,  from  which  only  Sir  Thomas  can  set  us 
free.   Had  we  revealed  the  fact  that  we  are  lovers 

"  We  should  never  have  passed  the  rascal's  thresh- 
old." finished  Harr>'.  "  No  more  words  about  the 
truth,  sweetheart.  It  will  not  do  for  the  world.  I  shall 
never  again  wear  a  mask.  I  swear  ;  but  if  I  am  to  wm 
honesty  by  sticking  to  the  truth,  then  I  am  done  for. 
Do  we  not  lie  in  our  own  defence  ?  That  surely  is  no 
sin  ;  for  even  the  criminal  is  urged  to  plead  not  guilty. 

"  I  do  not  Ue." 

"  You  have  made  the  old  rogue  believe  you  are  a 
lady  of  fortune." 

"And  so  I  am." 

"  You  suffer  him  to  address  you  as  Miss  Just. 

"  I  wish  he  would  1  He  calls  me  lamb,  dove,  kitten, 

383 


«84 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


duckling ;  I  am  become  a  menagerie  of  birds  and 
beasts.  You  forced  the  name  of  Just  upon  me,  and  I 
accepted  it,  having  none  of  my  own.  I  do  not  lie, 
Harry — and  you  are  cruel." 

'*  Nay,  sweetheart,  let  us  not  quarrel  with  all  the 
world  against  us.  Tell  me  the  latest  threat  of  the  old 
reprobate." 

"  If  I  do  not  speedily  consent,  he  will  close  his  door 
against  you.  I  believe,  Harry,  I  did  wrong  in  leaving 
Moyle,  and  am  now  being  punished  for  it." 

"  Two  days  from  now,"  said  the  young  man  hope- 
fully, "  we  should  receive  a  letter  from  Sir  Thomas. 
Should  he  send  the  advance  for  which  we  asked,  I  shall 
get  my  horse  out  of  the  stable  in  the  middle  of  the 
night ;  then  we  ride  to  some  place  of  safety.  Upon 
returning  to  the  manor,  sweetheart,  smile  upon  the 
old  fool — I  wish  he  were  nothing  worse — and  encourage 
him." 

"  That  I  cannot  do." 

"  At  least  do  not  repulse  him  ;  lest  in  a  fit  of  anger  he 
should  turn  us  out,  deny  me  my  own  horse,  and  leave 
us  to  go  on  foot ;  and  we  cannot  go  until  we  receive 
an  answer  from  Sir  Thomas.  Play  with  the  scoundrel, 
little  one ;  promise  him  a  final  answer  this  day  sen- 
night ;  but,  I  pray  you,  dangle  a  little  hope  before 
him." 

"  If  he  must  live  upon  the  hope  I  give  him,  he  is  like 
to  starve.  But  I  shall  do  my  best,  Harry.  I  cannot 
undo  your  lies,  but  I  shall  teU  him  a  young  maid  does 
not  consign  herself  to  the  ejection  of  a  grandfather 
until  she  has  searched  her  heart  for  at  least  a  week. 
Is  it  not  strange,  Harry,  that  he  does  not  susp  :t  you 
are  in  love  with  me  ?  " 

'  You  must  know,  Ruthie,  my  uncle  is  a  justice  of 
the  peace  ;  therefore  he  knows  nothing  of  the  law.  He 
believes  a  guardian  is  not  permitted  to  marry  his  ward  ; 
and  'tis  none  of  my  business  to  set  him  straight." 

It  was  certain  that  Uncle  Cay  suspected  some  plot ; 


A  CURIOUS  FORM  OF  HOSPITALITY    ^85 

for  he  went  into  a  passion  when  Ruth  begged  for  time, 
and  reminded  her,  in  a  sentence  not  his  own,  that  love 
brooked  no  delay.  He  loved  her  entirely,  and  it  was 
hardly  possible  to  suppose  she  would  refuse  ihe  name 
of  a  gentleman  of  some  importance  in  the  county  ;  at 
which  Ruth  smiled  and  was  tempted  to  confess  she 
was  not  unwilling  to  accept  the  name.  Warmed  by 
her  smile,  the  old  fellow  went  upon  his  knees,  bowed  his 
head  before  her,  and  made  himself  absurd ;  while 
Ruth,  with  a  view  before  her  of  a  monstrous  periwig, 
well  curled  and  powdered,  merely  sighed  and  wished 
herself  leagues  away.  Encouraged  by  the  sigh.  Uncle 
Cay  looked  up  and  desired  to  know  whether  he  had 
not  heard  an  expression  of  devotion.  Ruth  prevari- 
cated and  still  required  her  seven  days'  freedom. 

"  I  doubt,  Harry,"  said  the  old  gentleman  over  the 
wine,  "you  are  net  so  zealous  as  you  might  be  in 
forwarding  my  suit." 

"  Have  no  fear,  sir,"  replied  the  nephew.  "  Ruth 
likes  you  very  well ;  and  I  am  sure  she  has  set  her 
heart  upon  becoming  Mrs.  Cay.  But  you  must  humour 
her  whim,  if  you  would  win  her.  Sir,  had  you  ever  gone 
angling,  you  would  know  that  a  trout  will  refuse  your 
most  cunning  bait  during  six  days  ;  but  on  the  seventh 
it  will  rise  and  snap  it.  In  the  matter  of  coyness,  maids 
and  trouts  have  much  in  common." 

"Coyness  is  a  mighty  pretty  thing,"  Uncle  Cay 
admitted.  "  But,  look  ye,  Harry,  a  maid  may  show 
too  much  of  it.  Mistress  Ruth  should  have  passed 
through  the  stage  of  coyness  by  now.  'Tis  her  time  to 
snap ;  and,  by  thimder,  she  does  not  snap.  If  she 
dallies,  she  may  lose  me,  Harry." 

"  I  shall  warn  her,  sir." 

"  Egad,  I'll  do  that  myself.  She  may  find  herself 
without  a  husband  ;  for  she  is  twenty-two,  look  you  ; 
she  is  not  yoimg.  I  would  rescue  her  from  a  solitary 
existence — and  she  asks  for  another  week ! "  cried  the 
old  gentleman,  hurrying  off  to  find  the  peccant  damsel ; 


286 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


who,  when  discovered,  would  not  be  shaken  from  her 
purpose. 

The  day  arrived  when  Harry  was  due  in  Salisbury  for 
the  fitting  of  his  coat ;  and  that  morning  '•  *ncle  Cay 
was  in  so  sour  a  humour  that  he  locked  the  stable  door, 
clapped  the  key  in  his  pocket,  and  refused  the  young 
man  his  horse.  "  The  animal  is  mine,  and  I  do  not 
choose  to  lend  him,"  he  growled.  So  the  young  man 
had  to  walk,  and  as  usual  Ruth  accompanied  him  to 
the  chalk-pit ;  but  both  of  them  felt  uneasy,  for  the 
letter  which  was  due  had  not  arrived. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  leave  you,  love.  I  fear  my  uncle 
may  have  some  design  against  you,"  said  Harry 
glumly. 

"  He  can  do  nothing  worse  than  declare  his  passion ; 
and  that  I  am  so  well  accustomed  to  hear,  it  teases  me 
no  more  than  the  buzz  of  a  fly.  Yet  I  hope  you  will 
return  quickly,  Harry." 

"  I  shall  come  by  Giles  the  carrier,  whose  cart  leaves 
Salisbury  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  The  mail 
will  have  arrived  before  then,  and  may  bring  our  letter." 

"  If  anything  should  befall  you  or  myself,"  faltered 
Ruth. 

"  What  do  you  fear,  little  one  ?  No  harm  can  befall 
me  in  this  part  of  the  country  ;  while  my  uncle  has  Aot 
the  strength  to  force  you  into  a  post-chaise  and  carry 
you  to  Scotland.  Yet  I  do  not  go,  if  you  desire  me  to 
stay." 

"  Go,  Harry,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  not  be  easy  in  my 
mind  until  I  see  another  coat  upon  you.  I  am  troubled 
with  foolish  fancies— I  had  ill  dreams  last  night.  Let 
us  appoint  a  place  where — should  we  be  separated — 
we  may  meet  again." 

The  young  man  looked  disturbed.  He  drew  out  his 
purse  and  divided  the  ten  guineas,  giving  Ruth  half, 
and  saying,  "  If  I  should  not  return,  Ruthie— which 
is  most  unlikely — or  should  my  uncle  force  you  away 
in  my  absence  ;  in  either  case  escape  from  lum,  go  to 


A  CURIOUS  FORM  OF  HOSPITALITY     387 

the  city  of  Bath,  and  stand  each  day  at  noon  upon  the 
bridge  which  crosses  the  Avon  in  the  north  parade. 
Now  let  me  say  farewell,  dear  love,  and  may  God  help 

us!" 

Harry  descended  the  long  hill  at  a  swmging  gait ; 
while  Ruth,  alter  standmg  to  admire  his  ease  and 
strength,  returned  to  the  manor,  and  there  submitted 
herself  to  much  hand-stroking,  for  during  her  absence 
Uncle  Cay  had  fretted  himself  into  a  better  humour. 
But  when  the  time  came  for  her  to  set  out  towards  the 
chalk-pit,  her  ancient  lover  asser1«id  his  authority  and 
declared  she  should  not  go. 

"  I  discover  too  much  friendship  between  you  and 
my  nephew.  Did  I  not  know  that  the  law  forbids  a 
guardian  to  marry  his  ward— which  is  a  very  wise 
piece  of  legislation— I  should  suppose  you  had  set  your 
cap  at  the  young  rascal,"  he  said. 

"  As  we  cannot  marry,  sir,  there  is  no  good  reason 
why  I  should  not  go  out  to  meet  him,"  she  answered. 

"  I  do  not  wish  it  to  be  put  about  this  village  that 
my  wife  preferred  the  nephew,  though  she  had  the  good 
sense  to  take  the  uncle." 

"  I  have  not  taken  you." 

"Do  so,  most  beautiful  of  black-eyed  damsels! 
Utter  the  word,  my  precious  gipsy  !  Then  you  shall 
go  forth  to  welcome  the  scapegrace— ay,  and  you  shall 
receive  my  permission  to  flirt  your  handkerchief  at 
him  for  this  one  evening." 

"  I  give  my  ansver,  sir,  upon  the  day  I  choose— and 
upon  the  last  moment  of  that  day,"  she  said  incau- 
tiously. 

"  Hey  !  What  is  this  ?  The  last  moment !  "  cried 
the  old  gentleman.  "  I  tell  thee,^  Ruth.  I  will  not  be 
played  with.   I  am  no  tyrant " 

"  Then  let  me  pass,  sir." 

"  Nay,  I  am  a  qmet  old  fellow  ;  but  I  love  thee. 
Ruth — ay,  I  am  smitten  from  head  to  foot.  And,  by 
thunder,  I  will  marry  you." 


I 


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;ii 


288 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  Do  you  not  perceive,  sir,  you  are  interfering  with 
my  liberty  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  No  more  coob,  my  dove  t  No  more  bleats,  my 
lamb !  No  more  mews,  my  kitten  I  I  have  all  the 
keys  in  my  pocket.    You  do  not  go  out." 

"  Then,  sir,  will  you  leave  me  ?  " 

"  Nay,  pretty  one.  I  fear  you  might  leap  from  the 
window  and  do  yourself  an  injury.  Be  seated,  my 
little  giantess.  I  would  run  my  fiirigers  through  your 
hair— for  I  find  that  ...ighty  soothing— and  I  would 
toy  with  this  wonderful  piece  of  nature  which  admits 
to  your  brain  my  words  of  adoration.  Maybe  I  shall 
coax  a  most  emphatic  yes  before  our  rascal  comes." 

It  seemed  only  a  matter  of  a  few  minutes,  so  Ruth 
became  resigned  ;  but  with  her  thoughts  far  away  and 
her  mind  upon  the  chalky  road.  Time  passed  slowly 
in  that  torture-chamber,  yet  she  felt  assured  Harry 
was  long  in  coming  With  Uncle  Cay's  fingers  in  her 
ears  it  was  difficidt  to  distinguish  sotmds  from  outside. 
Thei-efore  she  started  when  old  Eliza  entered  to  remark, 
"  ITie  carrier  waits  below.  He  brings  an  urgent  message." 

"  Where  is  Harr/  ?  "  cried  Ruth. 

She  looked  round  and  found  herself  alone.  Eliza 
had  gone  to  hear  the  message,  while  Uncle  Cay  was 
running  to  the  hall.  She  dared  not  follow  ;  besides 
she  could  not.  A  fearful  muttering  of  voices  went  on  ; 
that  was  the  carrier,  rough  and  surly ;  while  Uncle  Cay 
cursed  and  swore  ;  and  Eliza  appeared  to  be  hissing 
like  a  serpent.  It  was  getting  darker,  and  Ruth  knew 
that  she  was  fainting ;  and  some  awful  thing  had 
happened. 

The  front  door  banged  with  a  shock  that  shook  the 
windows  ;  while  the  master  of  the  house  was  raving 
and  cursing  his  way  towards  her :  "A  scoundrel !  A 
dog!  A  devil  1  And  my  nephew  !  My  own  flesh  ar.d 
blood,  the  only  son  of  niy  only  brother  who,  though  a 
fool  who  could  never  get  money,  was  as  proper  a  gentle- 
man as  ever  walked  on  shoe-leather.    A  common  thief, 


bett  r.  This  gown, 
nch  of  a  f  otpad. 
,  of  fortv.  o|  A 
ay  (fear.  Marry 
but  rn  g!  ^  ye 
et  yt  ir  me.  t  as 


A  CURIOUS  FORM  OF  HOSPITALITY     289 

a  cutpursc,  a  footpad !  I  must  change  my  name,  resign 
the  commission,  and  sell  my  property.  I  a-Ti  disgraced 
in  the  county.  I  am  now  the  scorn  of  the «  ntire  neigh- 
bourhood. Let  him  hang,  I  say  !  Let  tht  hang  him 
high  I  I  would  not  cut  him  down  for  thousand 
pounds.  Hey,  mistress  I  "  shouted  the  old  gentleman, 
reeling  into  the  room.  "  You  know  sometb^  of  this. 
You  have  been  with  your  precious  guardian  long 
enough  to  know  how  he  got  his  living.  But  they  have 
him— ay,  they  have  him  last.  He  was  taken  in  Salis- 
bury to-day,  and  is  to  be  brought  beiort  the  justices  at 
their  next  meeting.  A  rascal,  I  say— ay^^a  pair  of 
rascals,  for  I  doubt  you  are  no 
young  woman — 'tis  too  fine  for  t ' 
'Tis  stolen,  I  warrant.  A  youn 
mighty  pretty  story,  but  it  won' 
you  1  Not  now,  my  wench,  not 
board  and  lodging.  Ay,  you  «N 
you  got  the  clothes  you  lie  in. " 

But  Ruth  heard  not  a  word,  for  ? '  ,  had  faanted  ;  and 
this  was  the  best  thing  that  ct  uld  havt  happen  d 
during  the  old  gentleman's  hour  of  ana-chv 

Uncle  Cay  was  selfish  and  hot-temp«*^*i,  i*<  t  he  had 
a  sense  of  honour.  He  spoke  like  a  ^«  m*rel  in  his 
rage,  yet  with  no  intention  of  behaviii ,  as  .on**.  An 
old  fool,  who  knew  he  was  ft  ohsh.  ud  believed  the 
young  people  were  common  ad^senturei  ^^-^  had  made 
a  game  of  him,  was  to  be  .cuse^  f<  '^s  of  self- 
control  at  the  moment  wife  n  the  rs.  *  as  Trought 
that  his  name  had  been  disgraced  hv  m  nephew,  who 
was  now  found  to  be  no  better  thai  ^  *^t.  By  the 
time  Ruth  had  revived,  he  too  was  rti  J  to  a  more 
equable  frame  of  mind.  ,, 

"  Giles  is  a  worthy  fellow,  but  ap^  to  exaggerate, 
he  said  to  the  horrified  Eliza.    "  I  believe  a  mistake 
has  been  made.    Mr.  Job  is  a  Cay  and  a  genUeman. 
Pressed  by  poverty,  he  may  have  purchased  a  second- 
hand coat.   He  may  even  have  forgot  to  pay  for  it.   So 


ago 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


he  it  taken  into  execution  to  tatiify  tht  debt— fcnd  to 
owe  money,  Eliia,  i»  not  dishonourable  in  a  gentlenian." 

But  later  in  the  evening  another  messenger  arrived, 
in  the  shape  of  a  leighbouring  farmer ;  and  he  declared 
that  the  story  of  Giles  the  carrier  was  not  exaggerated. 
Then  Uncle  Cay  locked  himself  into  the  dining-room 
with  a  dozen  of  claret,  and  drank  till  midnight ;  nor 
was  he  so  far  gone  by  then  that  he  could  not  hear  a 
timid  knock  upon  the  door. 

Ruth  stood  upon  the  threshold  fully  dressed ;  her 
hair  upor*  her  shoulders  and  her  face  much  disfigured 
by  weeping.  Uncle  Cay  drew  her  in,  forced  her  into 
a  chair,  and  placed  a  glass  of  wine  before  her ;  but  the 
girl  only  moaned  and  shivered  until  the  bemused  old 
gentleman  went  upon  his  knees  and  kissed  her  hands. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  the  words  I  spoke,  my  precious," 
he  stammered.  "  I  believe  you  are  a  good  maid— ay, 
an  honest  maid.  That  scoundrel  is  to  blame  for  all. 

"  Tell  me  what  has  happened.  I  cannot  sleep.  I 
cannot  lie  down,"  she  moaned.  ^^ 

"  You  know  how  the  rascal  has  been  living. 

"  Yes,  I  knew,  and  have  scolded  him  for  it.  He  has 
come  right  now." 

"Too  late,  Ruth.    They  have  hmi— and  he  will 

hang." 

"  He  will  not  hang.  He  is  safe  from  the  rope  unless 
they  make  it  of  silk.  He  is  protected  b:  St.  Ludgvan's 
water.  I  shall  go  to  Bath  and  find  hini  on  the  bridge. 
I  am  to  tell  you  the  whole  truth.  But  in  pity  let  me 
hear  what  took  place  to-day." 

"  He  has  run  his  neck  into  the  noose,  said  Uncle 
Cay  unsteadily.  "The  tailox's  assistant— who  has 
lately  arrived  from  London— recognised  the  coat  our 
rascal  was  wearing,  and  indeed  could  not  mistake  it, 
having  himself  cut  the  cloth  for  a  worthy  gentleman 
who  resides  near  Exeter.  So  he  lodges  an  information ; 
and  to-dav,  when  they  know  Job  is  to  arrive  m  Salis- 
bury, the  constables  await  him  in  the  tailor's  shop." 


A  CURIOUS  FORM  OF  HOSPITALITY     291 

Then  he  mutten    to  himself.  "  I  shall  keep  the  door  of 
the  stable  locked,  else  I  may  lose  the  running  horse  he 

gave  me." 

Some  minutes  passed  before  Ruth  could  find  her 
voice.  At  length  she  placed  her  hand  in  a  friendly 
fashion  upon  the  old  man's  sleeve,  and  began  to  whisper 
the  whole  true  history  of  her  life  :  how  she  had  been 
cast  up  by  the  sea  and  adopted  by  Grambla ;  how 
Harry  had  come  to  her  at  Coinagehall ;  how  she  had 
been  rendered  homeless,  and  cared  for  by  the  Justs ; 
and  how  she  had  fled  with  the  young  man  who,  she 
now  conjfessed,  was  her  acc^ied  lover. 

"  I  spoke  the  truth  when  I  came  here  first,"  she 
concluded.  "  I  am  a  nameless  orphan  who  has  never 
known  her  paf^nts.  And  I  am  a  young  woman  of 
fortvme,  for  I  possess  a  diamond  necklet  of  great 
value." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  almost  sobered 
by  her  narrative.  "  I  suspected  Job,  but  I  never  sus- 
pected you.  Now  he  has  gone,  and  you  will  hear  no 
more  of  him.  Guardian,  indeed  1  A  pretty  story  I  I 
knew  the  rogue  was  lying.  We  are  now  to  live  down 
the  disgrace  and  the  dishonour  he  has  brought  upon 
us  ;  and,  I  tell  ye,  Ruth,  I  cam:ot  lead  that  life  alone. 

u  loved  a  worthless  rascal,  and  have  lost  him  ;  and 
tis  your  greatest  happiness  to  have  lost  him,  for  had 

u  married  the  rogue  he  would  have  used  ye  ill." 

"  He  would  not,  for  I  have  reformed  him." 

"  Now,  child,  you  shall  reform  me.    'Tis  an  ill  story, 
et  it  may  lead  us  to  some  good.    You  have  indeed 
ost  the  nephew,  but  what  is  that  when  you  gain  the 
uncle  ?  " 

"  Do  not  tease  me  now,"  Ruth  pleaded. 

"  I  tease  ye  out  of  kindness,"  he  declared. 

"  I  shall  wed  no  man  if  he  be  not  Harry." 

"  He  is  dead.  chUd." 

"  He  will  escape.  They  will  find  him  innocent.  I 
know  not  what  will  happen,  save  that  the  magic  of  the 


292  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

water  frees  him.   During  hundreds  of  years  it  has  never 

been  known  to  fail." 

"  Nay,  do  not  tell  me  about  water.  I  know  httle  of 
that.  Job  is  damned  by  the  coat  he  walked  in.  This 
fine  gown,  child — did  he  steal  that  too  ?  " 

"  Nay,  it  was  given  me  by  Lady  Just,  and  I  cut  it  to 
suit  my  figure.   I  am  an  honest  maid." 

"  'Tis  one  of  your  many  virtues  that  I  love.  To- 
morrow," said  Uncle  Cay,  wobbling  over  the  table  as 
he  sought  to  snuff  the  candles,  "  I  visit  the  curate  and 
bid  him  advertise  the  banns." 

"  Oh,  sir,  pity  me !  Remember  I  am  alone  and  un- 
protected." ,.     J       -tr 

"  You  shall  obtain  protection  and  lose  sohtude.  You 
shall  win  the  name  you  value.  I  am  honest  with  you, 
Ruth.  Is  it  not  m  my  power  to  force  you  to  remam  ? 
Yet  I  propose  to  make  you  my  lady.  You  might  travel 
many  miles  before  you  had  the  fortune  to  discover  a 
country  squire  with  intentions  so  honourable  as  mine," 
declared  the  old  gentleman  with  perfect  truth.^ 

"Harry  will  return,"  Ruth  murmured.  "And  if 
not  I  must  go  to  him."  But  her  head  was  swimming, 
so  that  she  was  forced  to  accept  Uncle  Cay's  assistance 
to  her  room  ;  and,  his  feet  being  uncertain,  they  both 
stumbled  sadly  up  the  stairs. 

In  the  morning  Ruth  awoke  to  misery  ;  also  to  the 
discovery  that  her  clothes  and  her  money  had  been 
removed,  while  the  door  was  locked.  Weak  and  ill  she 
lay  until  Eliza  came  with  breakfast,  and  the  informa- 
tion that  the  master  had  gone  out  already  upon  a  visit 

to  the  curate.  ^  „ -n.    ,     ,   j 

"  Is  there  no  letter  arrived  for  me  ?     Ruth  asked. 
"  Nay,  my  young  lady,  we  get  few  letters  here,"  said 

Eliza  sourly.  .     „  „  ., 

"  Pray  bring  my  clothes,  for  I  wish  to  nse,    Kuth 

went  on  coldly. 

"  I'll  see  to  that,"  replied  Eliza. 

Presently  feet  pattered  along  the  passage  and  stopped 


A  CURIOUS  FORM  OF  HOSPITALITY     293 

at  Ruth's  door.  The  key  was  turned,  and  Uncle  Cay 
had  the  unpudence  to  enter,  with  a  chuckle  of  delight 
and  the  full-throated  cry  : 

"  Ruth,  my  love  1    Good  morning !  " 

"  Leave  my  room  I  Mr.  Cay,  sir,  this  is  indeed  vile 
treatment,"  cried  the  girl. 

"  Hey-ho,  my  little  dove  !  Why  are  ye  so  disturbed  ? 
Why  such  a  mighty  fluttering  of  white  plvunage  ? 
A  pretty  fuss  to  make !  May  I  not  walk  about  my  own 
house,  enter  my  own  chambers,  and  enjoy  a  little  chat 
with  the  lady  of  my  love  ?  I  have  visited  the  curate, 
sweet  one.  Upon  Sunday  he  is  to  publish  our  banns 
for  the  first  time." 

"  I  care  not  if  he  publishes  them  twenty  times," 
sobbed  Ruth.  "  But  I  will  never  go  to  church  with 
you." 

"  I  believe  you  will,  Ruth.  Ay,  I  am  very  sure  you 
will  be  happy  to  go,"  said  Uncle  Cay,  who  appeared  in 
a  holiday  humour.  "  I  shall  give  you  the  week  ;  I  am 
bound  in  honour  to  give  you  the  seven  days.  'Tis  true 
we  are  (Ushonoured  by  that  scoundrel ;  but  we  are  not 
to  be  disgraced,"  he  continued,  capering  about  the 
room.  "  I  find  there  is  much  sympathy  expressed  for 
me.  'Tis  well  known  how  I  disowned  Job,  and  turned 
him  out  with  a  guinea  in  his  pocket ;  and  'tis  said  I 
did  all  that  an  hohest  gentleman  could  do  to  protect 
the  honour  of  his  family.  Ah,  little  one,  suffer  me  to 
fold  you  in  these  arms." 

"  Go  !  "  cried  Ruth.  "  If  you  come  within  reach  of 
me  I  shall  strike  you." 

The  old  man's  countenance  changed  at  that  and  his 
hands  began  to  tremble.  He  had  not  looked  for  so 
much  spirit  in  a  weak  young  maid. 

"  Ruth,  my  love,  I  would  not  be  cruel  with  you," 
he  said.  "  But  maidens  must  be  tamed,  my  dear. 
Little  birds  must  have  their  wings  clipped.  I  would 
not  remind  you  every  day  that  you  are  in  my  power." 

"  Cruel — cruel  wretch  !  "  she  sobbed. 


r 


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I     I 

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294 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  I  shall  be  wondrous  kind  when  we  are  wedded. 
Ay,  a  doting  old  Jack,  I  promise  ye.  'Twill  then  be 
your  turn  to  plague  my  life  out.  Let's  have  no  idle 
words,  my  jewel.  Here  you  are,  and  here  you  shall 
remain,  until  you  give  me  your  oath  to  go  upon  my 
arm  to  church.  I  wish  ye  no  evil,  Ruth  ;  nay,  I  desire 
for  ye  all  the  good  in  the  world.  But  I  will  marry  ye. 
By  thunder,  I  will  marry  ye." 

"  If  you  have  any  affection  for  me,  or  can  feel  pity 
for  my  misery,  leave  me,"  she  implored ;  and  the 
persecutor  departed  with  many  grimaces  and  queer 
oaths  of  constancy. 

So  the  day  passed,  with  Ruth  in  tears  and  Uncle  Cay 
in  triumph ;  since  both  foresaw  the  ending  of  that 
struggle.  Even  had  the  door  been  left  open,  the 
prisoner  could  not  have  escaped  without  her  clothing. 
Being  unable  to  write  or  read,  she  could  not  have  sent 
for  assistance  to  Sir  Thomas ;  nor  would  she  have 
known  what  instructions  he  gave  iiad  the  long  expected 
letter  been  delivered.  There  was  nothing  to  hinder  the 
old  gentleman  of  the  manor  from  keeping  her  a  prisoner 
untU  either  her  health,  her  reason,  or  her  determination 
gave  way. 

After  two  days  of  this  confinement  Ruth  decided  to 
free  herself  by  committing  a  mortal  sin.  It  was  now 
evident  that  the  mail  had  miscarried,  or  that  the  letter 
intended  for  her  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  some 
rascal  of  the  road  ;  for  it  was  not  pc  oible  to  suppose 
that  Sir  Thomas  could  have  failed  iier.  The  sin  was 
perhaps  no  great  one.  She  made  the  plan  of  winning 
her  liberty  by  agreeing  to  marry  Uncle  Cay  ;  though 
at  the  first  opportunity  she  intended  to  slip  cut  ol  the 
house  and  to  run  all  the  way  to  Bath. 

"  I  accept,  not  him,  but  my  clothes  and  my  ^ve 
guineas,"  she  assured  herself. 

Uncle  Cay  paid  visits  like  a  doctor  during  the  course 
of  every  day  ;  and  certainly  he  tried  to  make  himself 
agreeable,  and  saw  to  it  that  the  young  lady  was  well 


r 


A  CURIOUS  FORM  OF  HOSPITALITY     295 

supplied  with  meat  and  drink.  Early  in  the  afternoon 
Ruth  arrived  at  her  decision  ;  and  not  long  afterwards 
the  old  fellow  capered  along  the  passage  and  trotted 
into  the  room  with  the  air  of  a  young  rake  but  without 
the  grace  of  a  dancing-master.  He  brought  roses  for 
his  lady,  and  while  forcing  them  tenderly  upon  her 
he  was  struck  by  a  certain  change  in  her  appearance, 
and  cried  joyously  :  "  My  precious  jewel  I  shall  be 
astonished  if  you  have  not  some  kindly  words  for  me." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Ruth  in  a  low  and  frightened 
voice.  "  I  think,  sir,  you  have  used  me  very  ill,  and  I 
may  not  easily  forgive  you.  But  I  pine  for  my 
liberty " 

"  And  so  you  marry  me,"  cried  the  old  man,  mter- 

rupting  her.  „ 

"  I  thank  you  for  taking  the  words  out  of  my  mouth, 

said  Ruth.  „ 

"  My  love  and  my  life,  let  me  embrace  you,  cned 
the  amorous  old  gentleman. 

"  And  now,  sir,"  said  poor  Ruth,  when  that  ordeal 
was  over  for  the  moment,  "  let  my  clothes  be  brought, 
and  suffer  me  to  leave  this  hateful  room— and  let  there 
be  some  decency  between  us." 

"  Nay,  my  sweet  love,  the  old  lad  must  have  his  way 
a  short  while  longer.  Birds,  my  pretty,  have  a  trick 
of  flitting.  On  this  window-sill  one  minute  ;  half 
the  way  to  Bath  the  next.  The  dove  in  a  cage  is 
safe,  my  love.  But  the  dove  in  a  tree  is  her  own  s>yeet 
mistress.  Be  patient,  my  shining  pearl.  The  marriag«i 
shall  take  place  with  all  possible  despatch.  I  shall  ride 
to-morrow  into  SaUsbury  and  procure  a  Ucence— ay, 
and  would  pay  for  it  a  hundred  pounds  with  the  utmost 
pleasiu-e.  You  do  not  fly  from  this  chamber,  iittk 
dove.  You  do  not  leave  it  till  you  flit  with  i  0  to 
church." 

"  Can  you  not  trust  me  ?  "  cried  Ruth  ;  but  could 
say  no  more,  for  the  knowledge  of  her  intended  wicked- 
ness choked  her;   while  the  sense  of  her   terrible 


30 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


position,  which  now  seemed  doubly  worse,  crushed 
her  last  hope. 

"  Marriage  is  a  sweet  thing,  love,  but  'tis  also  a 
matter  of  business,"  said  Uncle  Cay  excitedly.  "  I  go 
for  pen  and  paper ;  and  to  call  good  Liz.  I  shall  draw 
up  a  contract  of  marriage,  and  we  will  put  otu*  hands 
to  it." 

"  I  cannot  write,"  moaned  Ruth. 

"  'Tis  not  needful,  love.  You  shall  set  your  pretty 
mark  against  the  seal,  and  the  worthy  Liz  shall  witness 
it." 

All  was  bustle  the  next  few  minutes.  The  gasping  old 
gentleman  sat  to  the  table  and  began  to  scribble, 
while  Eliza  stood  stifHy  at  his  side ;  and  Ruth  lay 
white  and  silent  on  the  bed.  Birds  were  in  song  upon 
branches  near  the  window.  Winterberry  was  ever 
famous  for  its  blackcaps. 

"  A  contract  of  marriage  between  John  Charles 
Cay,  of  the  manor  of  Winterberry,  in  the  county  of 
Wiltshire,  gentleman  ;  and  Ruth  blank — nay,  a  name 
must  go  down.  Let  it  be  Ruth  Just,"  chuckled  the 
old  fellow. 

"  Ruth  of  no  name,  and  no  parents,  and  no  county — 
and  no  hope,"  whispered  the  pale  girl.  Then  she 
started  upon  her  elbow  and  gasped,  "  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  A  cart  upon  the  road,"  said  the  sour  Eliza,  who 
feared  that  her  reign  was  nearly  over. 

"  Zounds,  'tis  a  visitor  !  "  cried  Uncle  Cay  suddenly, 
pushing  the  paper  from  him ;  then  sitting  up  and 
listening. 

"  They  are  carriage  wheels  I    They  go  swiftly." 

"  They  are  turning  into  the  drive  !  They  approach 
the  door  !  "  cried  Ruth,  who  was  staring  wildly  at  the 
window  which  overlook'^d  the  garden  side. 

"  We  shall  conclude  this  business  later,"  said  Uncle 
Cay  frowning  and  imeasy  ;  for  this  delay  appeared  to 
him  a  trifle  ominous. 

"  Do  not  go  !  "  Ruth  exclaimed. 


A  CURIOUS  FORM  OF  HOSPITALITY     297 

"  Nay,  my  precious.  I  shall  stay  with  you.  Eliza, 
go  to  the  door  and  receive  my  visitors." 

"  Do  not  leave  me,  dear  Mr.  Cay !  "  cried  Ruth 
again  ;  dreading  lest  he  might  depart  and  lock  the  door 
behind  him. 

"  Some  kind  neighbour  calls  to  sympathise.  He 
shall  stay  to  crack  a  bottle  and  congratulate  us,"  said 
Uncle  Cay. 

His  face  was  turned  towards  the  door,  so  that  he 
could  not  perceive  Ruth  sitting  up,  excited,  alert, 
wide-eyed ;  listening  for  the  sound  of  voices  from 
below.  They  came  :  the  voice  of  Eliza  inviting  ;  that 
of  a  man  accepting.  And  the  master  of  the  house  cried 
out ;  for  he  felt  himself  pushed  violently,  and  was 
staring  the  next  moment  at  an  empty  bed.  Ruth  had 
run.  Along  the  passage  she  scampered,  and  down  the 
stairs,  upon  bare  feet,  in  ghostly  nightdress,  with  hair 
streaming  behind ;  and  so  to  the  hall,  there  to  fling 
herself  with  sobs  of  joy  and  gratitude  upon  the  matting 
to  embrace  the  knees  of  that  calm  gentleman  and  great 
magician,  Sir  Thomas  Just. 


m 


li 


CHAPTER  IV 

RUTH  CONTINUES  HER  TRAVELS 

"  O  HORRID !    this  fellow  comes  to  ruin  me,"  cried 
Uncle  Cay,  as  he  stumbled  down  the  stairs. 

"  I  believe,  sir,  you  are  detaining  this  young  lady 
against  her  will,"  said  the  guest.  "  My  name  is  Sir 
Thomas  Just ;  my  English  seat  is  in  the  county  of 
Cornwall ;  and  I  have  appointed  myself  the  guardian 
of  Miss  Ruth." 

"  Another  guardian  I  The  pretty  wretch  is  overdone 
with  them,"  the  old  man  muttered.  "  Sir,  I  am  pleased 
to  see  you ;  I  am  honoured,  sir,"  he  continued.  "  I 
also  am  the  self-appointed  guardian  of  this  lady.  She 
has  been  the  accomplice  of  a  robber ;  and  I  am  pro- 
tecting her,  sir,  from  the  severity  of  the  law.  Besides, 
she  has  promised  to  become  my  wife."  ^^ 

"  He  forced  consent  from  me,"  sobbed  Ruth.  He 
has  kept  me  locked  up,  and  has  stolen  my  clothes  and 
money.    He  is  himself  worse  than  any  highwayman." 

"  I  shall  waste  no  words  with  you,  sir,"  said  Sir 
Thomas.  "Restore  this  young  lady  her  property 
immediately." 

"  Have  you  a  justice's  warrant  to  search  my  house  t 
asked  Uncle  Cay,  trying  to  bluster. 

"  I  shall  certainly  procure  a  warrant ;  not  to  search 
the  house,  but  to  punish  its  master,  should  you  press 
me.  Now,  child,  return  to  your  chamber  and  dress  your- 
self," said  Sir  Thomas,  leading  Ruth  towards  the  stairs. 

"  This  young  lady  has  promised  to  marry  me.  She 
has  signed  the  contract." 

"  I  have  done  no  such  thing,"  cried  Ruth. 

298 


RUTH  CONTINUES  HER  TRAVELS     299 

"  But  you  would  have  done  so  had  this  gentleman 
not  arrived.  I  have  a  right  to  claim  you ;  I  have 
sheltered  you,  and  given  you  food,  these  ten  days ; 
and,  by  thunder,  I  claim  you— ay,  I  will  be  paid. 
Oh,  little  bird,  will  ye  never  chirp  again  at  poor  old 
John  Charles  ?  " 

"  Have  done  with  this  foolery,  sir,"  said  Sir  Thomas. 
"  If  this  yoimg  lady  stands  in  your  debt,  I  will  discharge 
what  she  owes.  I  say  again,  restore  hei  garments,  and 
let  her  clothe  herself  decently  ;  for  I  am  about  to  carry 
her  away  with  me." 

"  The  garments  are  destroyed  ;  they  were  but  stolen 
rubbish  and  moth-eaten." 

"  This  is  a  lie,  sir." 

"  I  believe  you,  sir.  Yes,  sir,  I  know  I  am  lying," 
said  Uncle  Cay  feebly.  "  I  locked  the  garments  in  a 
chest,  and  now  have  lost  the  key.  This  is  another  lie, 
sir.    What  more  can  a  man  do  ?  " 

Then  he  dr<  )ped  into  a  chair,  and  began  to  rave 
concerning  los.  opportunities  and  doves  with  uncUpped 

wings. 

"  My  good  woman,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  addressmg  the 
housekeeper,  "  pray  show  this  young  lady  where  her 
property  is  hidden." 

"  Am  I  to  obey  the  gentleman,  sir  ?  "  asked  Eliza, 
who  was  well  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  Ruth 
quit  the  house. 

"  She  will  fly— with  feathers  or  without.  Oh, 
wenches,  wenches  !  "  raved  the  old  gentleman.  "  Why 
do  ye  torment  me  ?  Why  was  I  so  sluggish  in  my 
youth  ?  " 

"  Step  into  your  room,  young  lady,  and  I  will  bring 
your  garments,"  said  Eliza  pleasantly ;  and  went  on 
to  herself  as  she  bustled  away,  "  If  I  have  any  more  to 
do  with  this  wenching  business,  may  I  be  hanged  for  it. 
Master  has  forced  me  to  use  his  name,  has  allowed  me 
to  pass  as  his  wife.  Now  I  shall  ride  in  Master  Giles 
his  cart  to  SaUsbury,  and  visit  an  attorney.    If  my 


■I 


r 


300  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

gentleman  does  not  make  me  his  lady,  he  shall  pay  me 
a  sum  in  damages,  I  warrant." 

Soon  Ruth  was  dressed,  and  went  with  Sir  Thomas  to 
the  chaise,  passing  through  the  haU  without  a  word  of 
farewell  to  the  old  gentleman,  who  sat  huddled  in  a 
chair,  weeping  bitterly  and  beating  his  hands  upon  the 
table.  The  next  minute  they  were  whirled  from  the 
manor  and  along  the  village  street  towards  the  downs. 
In  the  sweet  air  of  liberty  Ruth  again  broke  down,  as 
she  told  her  kind  protector  how  Harry  had  been  taken. 

"  This  is  an  ill  business.  I  fear  me,  child,  you  have 
wasted  your  love  upon  a  scoundrel,"  said  Sir  Thomas 

cravelv. 

"  He  is  become  honest,  sir.  We  travelled  together, 
and  he  behaved  like  a  gentleman— nay,  far  better  than 
any  gentleman  save  yourself.  That  >\icked  old  man, 
from  whom  you  have  just  rescued  me,  made  my  poor 
Harry  a  robber.  My  lover  must  not  be  punished  for 
sins  he  has  repented  of  ;  which  God  has  forgiven  him. 
Oh,  sir,  you  will  save  my  Harry  !  " 

"  My  poor  child,  I  cannot  help  him." 

"  You  are  great  and  powerful.  Will  you  not  obtain 
for  him  Her  Majesty's  most  gracious  free  pardon  ?  " 

"  A  Catholic  baronet,  who  is  moreover  scarce  an 
Englishman  by  residence,  must  not  go  to  Court  and  seek 
for  favours,"  replied  Sir  Thomas.  "  We  lie  to-night  at 
Salisbury,  and  I  shall  make  inquiries  about  yovir  lover. 
But,  child,  I  cannot  bid  you  hope,  for  there  is  much 
feeling  against  these  gentry  of  the  road,  and  'tis  indeed 
right  they  should  be  punished.  This  baptism  of  which 
you  think  so  highly,  my  poor  simple  child,  was  but  I 
fear  a  form  of  blasphemy." 

"  Oh,  sir  I  "  sobbed  Ruth. 

"  The  water  of  St.  Ludgvan's  well  has  no  more  power 
of  magic  than  the  rain  from  heaven." 

"  I  have  faith,  sir ;  and  perfect  faith  will  surely  work 
a  miracle.  I  believe  Harry  cannot  be  hanged,  except 
by  a  silken  rope.    God,  sir,  will  not  permit  it." 


RUTH  CONTINUES  HER  TRAVELS     301 

"  God,  child,  allows  His  creatures  '  ecdom  of  action. 
He  does  not  restrain  the  man  from  robhing  ;  nor  will 
He  restrain  the  hangman  from  his  duty." 

••  God  did  not  restrain  Mr.  Cay  from  making  me  a 
prisoner ;  yet  He  sent  you  to  deliver  me." 

"Ah,  child!  I  perceive  you  have  some  wit.  Do  you 
not  wonder  how  it  is  I  come  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  the  power  of  your  magic  told  you  I  was  m 
difficulty.  I  had  looked  for  a  letter  from  you,  but  when 
it  did  not  come  I  feared  you  had  forgot  me.  I  am  very 
sorry  I  disobeyed  you,  sir." 

"  You  have  been  punished,  Ruth.  I  was  away  from 
Bezurrel  when  your  letter  arrived,  and  my  lady  de- 
spatched it  immediately  to  my  lodgings  in  London. 
Being  upon  my  homeward  journey,  I  turned  aside  m 
order  that  I  might  carry  you  back  with  me  to  Moyle, 
where  indeed  your  presence  will  soon  be  necessary.  I 
permitted  you  to  escape  with  your  lover,  for  I  deemed 
It  right  you  should  receive  an  education  in  the  hard 
school  of  your  own  choosing  ;  yet  when  you  sent  the 
necklace  I  would  have  brought  you  back." 

"  You  were  amazed,  sir,  to  discover  me  a  fortune  ? 
said  Ruth,  trying  to  force  a  smile. 

"  When  you  sent  the  necklace  to  my  lady,  you  opened 
our  eyes  indeed.  You  may  live,  chUd,  a  hundred  years; 
yet  you  can  never  perform  a  better  deed  than  was  done 
by  you  that  day." 

"  Is  it  of  great  value,  sir  ?  " 

"  Of  inestimable  value,  child." 

"  Oh,  Harry  !  "  sighed  Ruth,  gazing  across  the  sunny 
downs.    "  Return  to  me  and  share  my  fortune." 

An  hour  later  the  chaise  rattled  over  the  cobble- 
stones of  Salisbury  to  the  door  of  the  principal  urn. 
Having  ordered  rooms  and  a  dinner.  Sir  Thomas  set 
forth  alone  to  make  mquiries  about  Harry  ;  and  was 
gone  so  long  Ruth  became  nervous.  At  length  he 
returned,  to  be  informed  by  the  waiter  that  the  dinner 
had  been  put  back  so  oft^    H  was  now  completely  spoilt. 


I 

n 


1 


302  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

"  Let  another  be  served,"  Sir  Thomas  ordered  ;  and 
then  he  went  to  Ruth. 

"  I  can  make  little  of  this  busmess,"  he  said.  "  I  went 
to  the  shop  of  the  tailor,  who  informed  me  the  young 
man  had  been  apprehended  in  his  presence,  and  taken 
to  the  Bridewell,  upon  the  charge  of  stealing  the  coat 
of  a  well-known  gentleman  in  Devonshire.  I  proceeded 
to  the  prison,  but  was  there  treated  with  the  utmost 
incivility  by  the  keeper,  who  appeared  to  resent  my 
questions,  and  indeed  refused  to  answer  them.  I  came  to 
the  conclusion  he  had  some  good  reason  for  withholding 
all  information  from  me.  So  I  obtained  the  address  of 
one  of  the  justices,  a  pleasant  gentleman,  who  used  me 
civilly,  and  assured  me,  after  a  vast  amount  of  hesita- 
tion, he  remembered  the  young  man  perfectly ;  and 
he  was  undoubtedly  lying  in  the  Bridewell,  as  other 
charges  yet  more  serious  were  likely  to  be  prefeired 
against  him.  I  mentioned  how  I  had  been  received  at 
the  prison,  and  the  worthy  justice  declared  he  could 
not  understand  it;  yet  he  appeared  uncommonly 
relieved  to  bow  me  out." 

"  What  is  it,  sir,  that  perplexes  you  ?  "  asked  Ruth. 

"  The  strange  manner  of  both  the  keeper  and  magis- 
trate. There  is  no  reason  why  the  one  should  be 
offended,  and  the  other  perplexed,  at  the  natural 
curiosity  of  a  gentleman." 

"  Do  you  suppose,  sir,  Harry  is  lying  in  the  prison  ?  " 

"  It  must  be  so,  for  how  could  he  possibly  get  away  ? 
My  poor  Ruth,  you  must  abandon  hope." 

"  That,  sir,  I  shall  never  do." 

"  You  won  him  too  late,  child.  He  is  doomed.  No 
jury  in  these  days  will  permit :.  robber  to  escape.  Your 
honest  shopkeeper  desires  to  travel  in  safety  and  to 
sleep  sound  at  nights.  Alas,  poor  Ruth,  we  must  seek 
you  out  a  more  worthy  valentine  come  February." 

"  I  will  have  Harry,  or  I  will  have  none,"  cried  Ruth. 
"  To-morrow,  sir,  will  you  carry  me  to  Bath  ;  or  shall 
I  go  alone  ?  " 


RUTH  CONTINUES  HER  TRAVELS     303 

"  What  do  you  mean,  child  ?  " 

"  Wlien  Harry  and  I  parted  we  made  a  compact.  If 
he  did  not  return,  I  was  to  go  to  Bath,  and  stand  each 
day  at  noon  upon  the  bridge  which  crosses  the  Avon 
in  the  north  parade.  There  he  would  meet  me  ;  and 
there,  sir,  he  will  meet  me." 

"  Child !  Child  !  "  said  Sir  Thomas  sadly.  "  Come 
to  your  dinner  and  forget  these  fancies." 

"  If  I  am  to  walk  all  the  way,  I  go  to  Bath  and  wait 
for  Harry,"  she  said.  "  You  tell  me  the  necklace  is  of 
inestimable  value.  I  do  not  want  a  fortune,  now  I  am 
lonely  and  cannot  share  it ;  but  I  must  have  my 
memories  and  the  bridge.  I  know,  sir,  you  will  in  your 
kindness  sell  the  necklace  and  invest  the  money  for 
me.  And  I  pray  you,  sir,  to  advance  me  a  sum,  so 
that  I  may  go  to  some  respectable  lodging  in  the  city 
of  Bath,  and  wait  for  Harry.  I  shall  stand  every  day 
at  noon  upon  the  bridge — in  hope,  sir.  And  if  he  is — 
is  hanged,"  she  said,  struggling  against  tears,  "  I  shall 
still  go  each  day  to  the  bridge,  and  wait  for  Harry, 
untU  I  grow  too  old,  or  become  too  weak,  to  walk ;  for 
the  bridge  of  Bath  will  join  me  to  my  Harry  ;  and  to 
visit  it  will  be  the  only  happiness  I  shall  know." 

"  Why  will  you  play  thus  with  your  misery  ?  " 

"  Because  I  love  him,  sir." 

"  Such  love,  child,  is  too  sacred  to  be  scoffed  at.  To- 
morrow I  carry  you  to  Bath,  and  shall  myself  find  a 
lodging  for  you  ;  and  there  I  will  leave  you,  upon  the 
understanding  that  you  come  to  Moyle  when  I  have 
occasion  to  send  for  you." 

"  Not  to  dwell,  sir.    Not  without  Harry." 

"  For  a  few  days  only  ;  and  when  hope  is  dead." 

"  For  what  purpose,  sir  ?  " 

"  That  I  may,  at  the  proper  time,  reveal  tl  mystery 
of  your  birth." 

"  What,  sir !  "  she  cried.   "  You  know  my  name  an 
the  history  of  my  family"?  " 

"  I  know  aU." 


■m 

■  t  r 

i 


# 


304 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  Was  it  the  necklet  told  you  ?  " 

"  It  was  the  necklet.  There  is  not  another  like  it  in 
the  world.  No  more  words,  else  we  shall  spoil  a  second 
dinner."  ^  ^^   , 

He  would  say  no  more ;  and  Ruth,  who  was  utterly 
exhausted,  in  spite  ^f  her  long  period  of  inaction,  partly 
perhaps  because  oi  it,  was  glad  to  seek  forgetfulness  in 
sleep.  Upon  the  following  morning  they  left  Salisbury  ; 
but  the  weather  being  wet,  and  the  roads  in  a  very  bad 
condition,  they  did  not  enter  Bath  until  late  in  the 
afternoon.  Sir  Thomas  was  for  go\ng  out  at  once  to 
find  a  lodging,  but  Ruth  dissuaded  him. 

"  I  have  a  feeling,"  she  said,  "  that  I  am  not  to  stay 
long  in  this  city."  .,  ^.  ^ 

"  The  maid  has  the  gift  of  second-sight,  Su-  Thomas 
murmured  to  himself. 

Ruth  was  eager  to  discover  the  bridge,  which  was 
indeed  not  difficult  to  find  ;  and  pleased  herself  sadly 
by  walldng  across  it  many  times  ;  and  when  they  had 
dined  she  begged  for  leave  to  continue  her  mournful 

passages. 

"  You  may  go,  child  ;  but  be  careful  not  to  speak  to 
either  man  or  woman.  There  are  many  rakes  and 
procuresses  in  this  city,"  replied  Sir  Thomas,  who  had 
for  some  time  been  regarding  her  eager  face  with 
puzzled  eyes. 

So  Ruth  went  again  to  the  north  parade,  and  passed 
to  and  fro  across  its  bridge,  until  night  had  fallen ; 
watching  that  strangely  mixed  company  of  the  best 
wits  and  greatest  fools  in  Europe,  flocking  to  pump- 
room  and  gaming-tables  from  tennis-court,  cock-pit 
or  bull-ring ;  for  Bath  was  in  full  glory,  having  but 
recently  been  honoured  by  a  royal  visit.  Sedan-chairs 
passed,  bearing  stout  ladies  wrapped  in  flannel  from 
the  baths  to  their  lodgings,  where  they  would  remove 
these  wrappings  and  dress  fine'y  for  the  night.  Great 
gentlemen,  sick  Nabobs,  livid-faced  statesmen,  wealthy 
idlere— representatives  of  the  highest  names  and  the 


RUTH  CONTINUES  HER  TROWELS     305 

wont  morals  in  the  world — went  by ;  while  Ruth 
peeped  eagerly  at  every  face,  sometimes  receiving  an 
ogle  in  response. 

With  night  the  bridge  and  all  surroundings  became 
unreal.  One  minute  in  darkness,  the  next  weirdly 
iUuminated  by  the  flare  of  a  link-boy's  torch,  or  the 
flash  of  carriage-lamps.  Revellers  were  abroad,  yet 
Ruth  had  no  fear  of  them  because  she  could  not  thmk 
of  danger  :  her  mind  was  settled  upon  Harry,  who  had 
promised  to  meet  her  there  ;  certainly  not  then,  under 
cover  of  darkness ;  yet,  if  free,  he  would  act  as  she 
herself  was  doing,  and  haunt  the  bridge  by  day  and 
night  until  they  saw  each  other. 

"A  wench  !  A  wench  I  "  shouted  a  richly  dressed 
young  man,  holding  his  lantern  near  Ruth's  face. 

"  A  mighty  pretty  one,  egad  !  "  cried  his  companion, 
catching  her  by  the  arm. 

"  Leave  me,  gentlemen  !  "  she  said  angrily. 

"  Nay,  pretty  one,  you  are  captured.  You  are  our 
prize.   Call  a  coach,  Harry  I  " 

'■  Harry  I "  murmured  Ruth,  staring  at  the  two  faces ; 
and  seeing  nothing  but  disease  and  vice  upon  them 

"  Ay,  youi   Harry,   my  love  !  "  shouted   the  d 
bauchee. 

"  Young  gentlemen  1  "  cried  a  shrill  excited  voice, 
and  an  old  woman  ran  up  to  them.  "  Unhand  my 
daughter  I  I  have  the  watch  behind  me.  Let  her  go, 
I  say,  or  I'll  scratch  your  eyes  out." 

She  caught  Ruth  round  the  waist  and  forced  her 
onward  ;  while  the  revellers  cursed  and  went  their  way, 
leaving  the  bridge  again  in  darkness.  Immediately 
Ruth  found  herself  caught  in  a  strong  embrace,  and 
with  a  sudden  f aintness  she  fell  to  dreaming  of  sunshine 
and  noon  ;  and  forgot  that  it  was  night  with  damp  and 
odours  rising  from  the  river. 

"  It  is  not  strange  ;  it  is  not  wonderful.  I  knew 
you  would  be  here,"  she  murmured. 

"  Oh,  my  Ruth  I   my  sweetheart !   I  have  haunted 


-n 


3o6 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


m 


this  bridge;  I  have  waited  three  days.  Why  were  ye 
so  long  in  coming  ?  " 

"  Where  are  we,  Harry  ?  " 

"  Over  the  bridge  ;  between  dark  houses.  This  way 
to  the  fields,  love.    The  open  country  is  the  only  place 

for  us."  ,  ^       .     J  •    r»  i.u 

"  Hold  me.  H^rry,  until  I  waken.  I  arrived  in  Bath 
this  aftemo  u.  I  came  Id  the  bridge— you  were  not 
here.  I  di:  cd  and  cawc  again.  I  knew  you  would 
come.  Sir  V" -onas  supi>osed  I  was  out  of  my  senses. 
I  did  not  come  with  an  idea  you  might  by  some  happy 
chance  arrive  ;  for  I  was  allowed  to  see  the  future. 

"  Sir  Thomas  with  you  !  " 

"  He  rescued  me  from  your  uncle." 

A  chair  passed,  accompanied  by  two  link-boys.  The 
lovers  saw  each  other  clearly  by  the  light  of  their 

torches.  .  ^  j  i. 

"  Now  I  am  awake.  Oh,  Harry  !  Harry !  God  has 
brought  you  out  of  prison  and  restored  you  to  me. 
But  why  are  you  dressed  as  an  old  woman  ?  " 

"  Can  you  walk,  sweetheart  ?  " 

"  Ay,  walk  to  Cornwall !  " 

"  Then  let  us  get  out  of  this  Bath,  which  I  feel  too 

hot  for  me." 

"  Sir  Thomas  awaits  me  at  the  White  Hart  Inn. 
Come  back  with  me,  for  all  constables  are  drunk  by 
now,  and  let  me  hear  your  story.  I  will  tell  you  mme 
while  we  return." 

They  went  very  slowly  across  the  bridge  and  along 
the  parade ;  but  Ruth  had  hardly  finished  her  tale 
before  they  reached  the  inn. 

"  Sweetheart.  I  did  not  think  my  uncle  would  go  so 
far  "  said  Harry  sternly.  "  Had  I  known  I  should  have 
returned  to  Winterberry.  But  it  was  very  well  I  did 
not  know  ;  for  I  must  have  been  taken  had  I  stayed. 
I  thought  you  would  nm  the  night  I  did  not  return  ; 
and  I  was  getting  afraid  as  the  days  passed,  and  still 
you  came  not.    In  these  clothes  I  dared  not  wait  upon 


■^ 


RUTH  CONTINUES  HER  TRAVELS     307 

the  bridge  by  day — I  have  told  I  know  not  how  many 
questioners  I  am  out  to  win  a  wager,  and  many  stranger 
things  are  done  by  the  young  bloods  who  visit  Bath — 
but  I  spent  each  evening  in  this  neighbourhood,  for 
I  guessed  you  would  ne^ver  be  far  distant  from  our 
meeting-place.  And  as  I  came  across  the  bridge  just 
now,  I  saw  your  own  sweet  face  by  the  light  of  that 
rascal's  lantern.  Thfcse  clothes  are  not  stolen,  Ruthie, 
I  have  come  by  them  honestly  ;  and  though  they  hang 
so  awkwardly  upon  me,  I  am  more  easy  in  my  mind 
and  body  than  I  was  in  the  handsome  coat  which  was 
very  near  the  cause  of  my  undoing." 

"  Where  is  that  coat  now,  Harry  ?  " 

"  Upon  the  back  of  some  serving-man,  or  gone  to  the 
second-hand  shop.  I  have  no  garments  save  this  greasy 
wear  of  some  old  cook  of  Salisbury ;  nor  do  I  possess 
a  single  coin  ;  but  methinks  I  have  an  empty  belly." 

"  Here  are  my  five  guineas,  Harry  ;  I  kept  them  for 
you.  Now  you  can  buy  some  clothes  and  get  yourself 
a  dinner." 

"  Ah,  sweetheart !  Lucky  is  the  rogue  whom  heaven 
supplies  with  such  a  guardian  angel." 

"  We  are  now  beside  the  inn,"  said  Ruth.  "  You 
cannot  enter,  but  I  shall  beg  Sir  Thomas  to  come  out 
and  speak  with  you." 

"  The  first  inn  of  Bath  is  no  place  for  a  young  gentle- 
man in  the  clothes  of  a  kitchen  woman.  But,  hark  ye, 
Ruthie,  I  am  by  no  means  safe  in  this  gay  city." 

"  We  depart  in  the  morning.  Sir  Thomas  will  make 
a  plan.  Ah,  Harry,  did  I  not  tell  you  how  baptism  in 
the  water  of  St.  Ludgvan's  well  would  save  you  soul 
and  body  ?  " 

"  And  you  spoke  truly  ;  had  it  not  been  for  you  in 
the  first  place,  and  St.  Ludgvan  in  the  second  place, 
I  should  have  gone  in  the  cart  to  be  turned  off,"  he 
answered. 

Bidding  him  wait  at  the  comer,  Ruth  entered  the 
inn,  and  discovered  Sir  Thomas  reading  a  newspaper. 


$  I 


i|1 

M 


3o8 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


He  listened  to  her  excited  narrative  ;  then  rose  to  go 
forth,  saying,  "  I  am  rejoiced  for  your  sake,  child.  I 
perceive  you  do  possess  the  Celtic  gift  of  second-sight ; 
which  formerly  I  had  not  believed  in." 

"  What,  sir,  is  Celtic  ?  "  inquired  the  ignorant  Ruth. 

"  Cornish  folk  belong  to  the  Celtic  race." 

"  But,  sir,  I  am  not  Cornish." 

"  Nay,  you  are  Spanish,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

They  went  to  the  awkward  Harry,  who,  when  pre- 
sented to  the  deliverer  of  Ruth  from  his  uncle's  clutches, 
behaved  in  so  manly  a  fashion,  and  expressed  his  grati- 
tude with  such  earnestness,  that  Sir  Thomas  had  a 
liking  at  once  for  the  young  adventurer.  Proceeding 
into  a  quiet  street,  they  strolled  in  the  dark,  while 
Harry  explained  how  it  was  he  found  himself  at  liberty. 

"  I  was  taken,  sir,  to  the  prison  in  order  that  I  might 
be  brought  before  the  justices  upon  the  following  day. 
The  keeper  was  a  very  civil  fellow,  who  had  been,  I 
believe,  a  bit  of  a  dog  himself ;  and  he  made  very  merry 
over  my  misfortune,  telling  me  I  was  a  fool  to  be  hanged 
for  a  laced  coat,  when  for  the  same  penalty  I  might 
have  shot  the  mayor  of  Salisbury,  against  whom  it 
appeared  he  had  some  grievance.  Finding  him  so 
merry  a  fpUow,  I  resolved  to  test  him  ;  and  the  same 
evenii  ving  an  opportunity,  I  drew  him  aside  and 

whispc  lad  five  guineas  hidden  in  one  of  my  shoes, 

which  i.  ne  had  the  inclination  he  could  earn  very 

easilv. 

"  '  Nay,  my  lad,'  said  he.    '  You  are  for  the  cart, 

and  fifty  guineas  do  not  save  you.' 

"  '  It  may  be  I  shall  enter  the  cart,'  I  said.    '  But 
they  can  never  hang  me.' 

"  '  Zounds   man  ! '  he  cried.    '  Have  ye  a  neck  of 

brass  ?  '  •        ,  n 

"  '  My  neck  is  the  same  as  yours,'  I  told  him.      Bui 

I  was  baptised  in  the  water  of  St.  Ludgvan's  well.' 
" '  Say,  you  so  ! '  he  cried.    '  Why  then,  you  are  a 

Comishman.' 


RUTH  CONTINUES  HER  TRAVELS     309 

"  '  Not  only  that,'  said  I.  '  But  I  am  to  be  married 
to  the  fairest  maid  in  all  the  Duchy.  I  did  not  expect, 
friend,  that  you  would  have  heard  of  St.  Ludgvan's 
weU.' 

'"If  you  are  amazed,  why  so  am  I,'  he  answered. 
'  For  you  are  the  first  man  out  of  Cornwall  I  have  met 
with  who  has  mentioned  St.  Ludgvan's  well.  I  am  a 
Comishman,  brother.  And  not  only  that,  but  I  was 
bom  in  the  parish  of  Ludgvan,  and  I  too  was  baptised 
with  water  from  the  holy  well.' 

" '  Now  you  perceive,  brother,  that  I  cannot  be 
hanged,'  said  I. 

" '  I  perceive  this,  broth'  r,'  he  answered,  '  I  am 
bound  to  help  you  escape,  lest  the  credit  of  St.  Ludg- 
van's well  should  be  destroyed ;  and  that,  I  believe, 
would  mean  the  ending  of  the  world.  There  is  great 
power  in  this  water,  as  we  know ;  but  we  must  help 
it,  do  ye  see  ?  Therefore  I  know  it  is  my  duty  to  secure 
your  freedom.  But  how  am  I  to  know  you  are  my 
brother  Comishman  ?  Come,  friend,  give  me  some 
proof.  If  you  were  bora  west  of  the  Tamar,  you  will 
know  some  sign-words.' 

"  '  Listen,  brother,  while  I  tell  the  numbers — ouyn, 
dow,  tray,  peswar,  pimp.'  I  said,  remembering  the 
lesson,  sweetheart,  you  had  taught  me. 

"  '  Enough,  brother  !  Here  is  my  hand,'  said  he. 
'  I  will  go  away  now,  and  shall  retura  when  I  have 
thought  of  some  plan  for  helping  you  without  getting 
myself  into  trouble.' 

"  Late  in  the  night  my  friend  aroused  me,  and  was 
then  so  merry  I  felt  assured  of  getting  free. 

"  '  Brother,'  said  he,  '  when  we  swear  to  miraculous 
power  in  St.  Ludgvan's  well,  we  speak  but  the  truth. 
I  know  very  well  you  are  not  for  the  gallows,  and  I  am 
sure  St.  Ludgvan — ^whoever  he  may  have  been — ^is 
doing  his  best  to  get  you  out  of  prison ;  and  has  indeed 
supplied  the  very  plan  and  fellow  for  this  purpose. 
The  constables  have  brought  in  a  gay  young  spark  who 


ll  M 


I 


i  1 


II 


310 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


is  a  stranger  to  this  city,  and  a  mighty  queer  figure  he 
cuts  for  he  is  dressed  in  the  clothing  of  old  Betty  the 
cook  of  the  Red  Lion  Inn.    He  arrives  at  Salisbury  to 
visit  a  young  lady,  hoping  I  warrant  ye  to  run  with  her 
to  Scotland  ;  but  the  parents  of  this  maid  keep  their 
bird  behind  bolts  and  bars ;    and  have  warned  my 
gentleman  he  will  be  placed  under  arrest  if  caught  tres- 
passing.   Well,  brother,  you  know  the  old  saw  about 
locked  doors  and  lovers.   The  young  blood  bribes  Betty 
the  cook  to  loan  him  her  bonnet  and  outward  garments 
for  the  night ;  and  dressed  in  these  clothes  he  goes  to 
the  young  lady's  house,  with  what  plan  in  his  head  I 
cannot  tell  you.    Upon  the  way  it  so  happens  he  runs 
into  a  watchman,  who  mistakes  my  young  rake  ior 
Mrs  Betty,  chucks  her  under  the  chin,  then  attempts 
to  kiss  her.    The  young  gentleman  fhes  into  a  temper 
and  beats  the  watchman  soundly ;  and  the  constables 
being  out,  and  hearing  the  fellow's  cries,  run  up  and 
carry  off  my  gentleman.   Now,  brother,  it  is  my  opimon 
that  the  good  saint  Ludgvan  has  arranged  all  this  for 
the  special  benefit  of  one  of  his  own  Cornish  lads.' 
"  'Maybe,'  said  I.   '  But  how  is  .his  young  rak*'  going 

to  assist  me?  '  ,  x       j 

"  •  I  shall  now  proceed  to  tell  you,  said  my  fnena. 
'  He  is  in  a  great  state  of  mind  at  being  taken  in  Betty's 
gown  and  bonnet,  and  has  declared  he  will  strangle 
himself  rather  than  be  brought  before  the  justices  m 
such  attire.  I  have  told  him  I  shall  not  permit  hun  to 
send  for  his  own  garments ;  but  I  will  myself,  for  a 
consideration,  supply  him  with  a  very  handsome  smt. 
Now,  brother,  I  desire  you  to  strip,  so  that  I  may  carry 
your  clothes  to  the  young  gentleman  ;  and  I  shall 
bring  you  presently  the  garments  of  B-tty,  m  which 
you  shall  appear  before  the  justices  to-morrow.' 

"'This  is  a  vcxy  pretty  trick,' said  I.  '  But  the  taUor  s 
assistant  is  the  principal  vvitness  agauist  me  ;  and  he 

knows  my  face.'  ,      -j  xu 

" '  You  may  leave  that  matter  to  me,    said  the 


RUTH  CONTINUES  HER  TRAVELS     311 

keeper.  '  I  will  undertake  to  have  this  young  gentle- 
man's case  brought  on  first ;  for  it  will  not  last  five 
minutes.  I  am  about  to  carry  a  guinea  to  the  watch- 
man, who  I  know  is  a  very  kindly  fellow  ;  and  as  you 
will  appear  to  answer  this  charge,  and  I  can  readily 
persuade  the  watchman  not  to  give  evidence  against 
you,  the  justices  will  discharge  you  immediately.  Then 
you  must  run  from  the  city,  and  get  well  away  before 
the  young  gentleman  comes  up  in  your  clothes  to  answer 
the  charge  against  you.  He  will  be  mightily  astonished 
to  hear  himself  called  Job  Cay,  and  to  discover  he  has 
to  plead  not  guilty  to  a  charge  of  highway  robbery  ; 
but  he  will  not  be  hurt  by  it,  for  the  justices — who  I 
must  inform  you  are  an  uncommon  lot  of  blockheads — 
will  believe  you  have  tricked  him  ;  and  I  shall  do 
nothing  to  discourage  that  opinion.  Therefore  he  too 
will  be  discharged.  You  will  be  by  that  time  well  away 
upon  Salisbury  Plain.  The  credit  of  St.  Ludgvan's  well 
will  be  saved  again.  And  I  do  not  know  that  I  shall  be 
out  of  pocket  by  this  trickery.' 

"  '  Brother,'  said  I,  while  pressing  his  hand, '  I  have 
only  five  guineas.  Here  are  four  ;  one  I  must  keep  to 
get  me  food.' 

"  As  I  am  here,  sir,"  continued  Harry,  addressing 
himself  to  Sir  Thomas,  you  will  perceive  that  tho  plan 
did  not  miscarry.  The  keeper  provided  me  with  a 
parcel  of  bread  -  ■'.d  meat,  which  I  hid  in  the  pocket  of 
this  skirt ;  and  ,  en  discharged  with  a  caution  as  to 
my  future  behaviour,  amid  much  merriment  on  the 
part  of  the  worthy  justices,  I  escaped  from  the  city, 
concealed  myself  in  a  hay-stack  until  nightfall,  and 
then  set  out  for  Bath,  reaching  the  city  boundaries 
early  the  next  morning.  Since  then,  sir,  I  have  waited 
for  Ruth,  and  assured  at  least  a  hundred  persons  I  am 
out  in  the  cook's  clothing  to  win  a  wager.  Yet  the  re- 
port may  have  followed,  so  that  I  dread  any  moment 
to  be  challenged." 

"  I  shall  see  to  your  safety,"  Sir  Thomas  promised. 


312 


MOYLE  CHURCH-T0>\7^ 


"  Wait  in  this  quiet  street,  and  I  will  send  Ruth  to  you 
presently  with  a  suit  of  my  own  clothes,  which  I  shall 
not  require  you  to  return.  Then  you  will  go  to  some 
place  outside  the  city,  discard  these  garments,  and 
return  dressed  suitably  to  spend  the  night  where  you 
will.  To-morrow  morning  be  at  the  yard  of  the  White 
Hart  Inn  by  eight,  and  I  shall  carry  you  with  us  into 
Cornwall." 

"  Sir,  if  I  enter  Moyle,  I  may  be  arrested  at  the  suit 
of  Jacob  Grambla." 

"  You  shall  not  enter  Moyle.  I  am  to  make  tried  of 
you,  Cay,  for  I  desire  to  learn  whether  you  are  worthy 
of  this  young  lady.  I  leave  you  at  a  farm  which  belongs 
to  me,  though  it  is  situated  some  twenty  miles  from 
Moyle  church-town.  The  tenant  is  a  worthy  man,  and 
I  shall  inform  him  you  are  to  work  on  his  farm  and  gain 
some  instruction  in  agriculture,  which  may  be  of 
service  to  you  at  some  future  time.  I  believe  your 
period  of  labour  will  not  be  long." 

"  I  am  indeed  grateful  to  you,  sir ;  and  I  shall 
endeavour  to  please  you,"  the  young  man  answered. 

They  departed  from  Bath  the  next  morning  and, 
travelling  in  safety,  came  into  Cornwall  at  evening 
upon  the  second  day ;  reaching  the  farm  about  mid- 
day, and  there  leaving  Harry  to  begin  his  life  afresh, 
and  to  win  blistered  hands  at  last ;  afterwards  driving 
towards  Moyle  at  the  highest  speed,  for  Sir  Thomas 
vfas  anxious  to  be  home  before  dusk,  and  the  days 
were  closing  in.  But,  as  they  drew  within  sight  of 
Great  Gwentor,  his  amazement  was  great  to  discover 
a  number  of  vehicles  all  going  in  the  same  direction  as 
themselves. 

"  Some  great  thing  is  happening  in  Moyle  to-night," 
he  said  to  Ruth.  "  These  are  the  carriages  of  small 
gentry  from  the  adjoining  parishes — ship-owners, 
people  of  an  hundred  acres,  with  a  parson  or  two.  No 
person  of  quality  passes.  I  believe  Jacob  Grambla 
^ves  another  of  his  parties." 


CHAPTER  V 


JACOB  GIVES  A  PARTY 


The  glow  of  candlelight  in  Coinagehall  was  sufficient 
to  show  that  Jacob  Grambla  indeed  gave  a  party ; 
and,  being  a  gentleman  who  conceived  it  proper  to 
mimic  the  ways  of  London  society,  according  to 
information  afforded  him  by  the  newspapers,  he 
required  the  company  to  appear  in  masquerade,  and 
not  to  reveal  themselves  in  their  true  characters  until 
a  signal  was  made  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

Neai  the  door  stood  Jacob,  in  the  character  of  a 
Friar,  to  receive  the  guests,  whom  it  was  his  duty  not 
to  recognise.  To  him  appeared  Italian  Shepherdess, 
Cardinal,  Druid,  Quack-Doctor,  Vestal,  Jockey,  Sul- 
tana, Diana,  Political  Bedlamite,  with  many  another 
stock  character  of  the  masquerade.  A  dating  lady 
appeared  as  a  Daughter  of  Venus ;  showing — in  the 
words  of  the  host — ^that  true  elegance  of  form  might 
be  expressed  without  embroidery  and  diamonds.  A 
gentleman,  more  daring,  came  in  the  character  of 
Adam ;  in  a  dress  fitting  so  closely,  and  painted  so 
naturally,  that  at  a  glance  there  was  some  excuse  to 
imagine  he  had  studied  the  part  in  too  liberal  a  fashion. 

At  such  an  entertainment  it  was  no  unusual  thing — 
especially  when  the  party  was  political — ^for  the  im- 
invited  guest  to  make  an  appearance.  Dancing  and 
gaming  were  in  full  swing,  when  Jacob,  in  malang  a 
tour  of  the  rooms,  perceived  a  little  fellow  whom  he 
could  not  name.  This  stranger  wore  the  familiar 
parti-coloured  dress  of  a  jester,  but  carried  no  bauble  ; 
while  his  red  mask  was  so  large  as  to  obliterate  his 

313 


I  r 


314  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

features.  He  passed  about  the  rooms,  by  far  the  most 
sprightly  figure  there,  with  a  jest  for  all ;  winning  taps 
from  the  fans  of  ladies,  and  many  a  shout  of  laughter 
from  the  gentlemen.  Jacob  followed,  anxious  to  get  the 
red  mask  into  a  comer  and  to  enjoy  a  few  words  with 

him.  .   ,     , 

"  Excellent  lady  !  Matchless  wife  !  "  cried  the 
motley,  bowing  before  the  Daughter  of  Venus. 

"  Jester,  I  am  neither  wife,  maid,  nor  widow," 
replied  the  lady. 

"  Excellent  mineral !  Matchless  vegetable  !  said 
theje&'er. 

"  I  am  an  immortal,  jester." 

"  There  is  much  virtue  in  that  letter  T,  dear  lady." 

Jacob  pursued  the  jester  into  another  room,  where  he 
went  up  to  Adam,  who  acted  his  part  with  very  little 
dignity,  and  asked,  "  Do  you  not  know  me,  father  ?  " 

"  I  am  acquainted,  jester,  with  only  snakes  and 
ladies,"  replied  Adam. 

"  What !  "  cried  the  motley.    "  Not  recognise  your 

son !  " 

"  'Tis  a  wi^  man  who  knows  hk  child,"  said  Adam. 

With  the  laughter  against  him,  the  red  mask  ran  up 
to  a  costume  made  of  cards,  and  said,  "  I  see  the  king, 
and  I  see  the  queen ;    but  where,  fair  lady,  is  the 

knave  ?  " 

"  He  is  the  knave  who  puts  the  question,"  came  the 
answer,  and  again  the  laugh  went  up  against  the  jester. 

"  A  company  of  wits,  sir,"  remarked  Jacob,  as  the 
little  figi  re  reached  the  hall. 

"  A  very  pleasant  company,  good  friar,"  replied  the 
jester.  "  Yet  I  believe  they  could  listen  with  advan- 
tage to  your  sermons.  Plenty  of  wit,  friar,  but  not 
much  modesty." 

"  Nor  morals,  jester  ?  " 

"  A  village  maid  would  shame  the  lot." 

"  Nor  religion,  jester  ?  " 

"  No  more  than  you  would  f  nd  in  the  bell  of  a 


JACOB  GIVES  A  PARTY 


315 


church,   which    makes   a   mighty   noise    concerning 
religion,  but  has  none  itself." 

"  Do  you  know  me,  jester  ?  " 

"  Very  well  indeed,  holy  man.  And  you  will  know 
me  when  all  unmask.  You  believe  I  come  uninvited  ; 
yet  the  truth  is  I  am  so  well  disguised  that  my  own 
mother  would  not  know  me." 

"  I  shall  be  glad,  jester,  to  learn  your  name,  and  to 
see  your  face." 

"  You  urged  me  to  come,  friar ;  though,  to  speak 
plainly,  I  had  a  more  pressing  engagement." 

"  I  am  greatly  honoured,"  said  Jacob.  "  So,  jester, 
you  have  but  an  ill  opinion  of  this  company  ?  " 

"  And  if  I  am  to  judge,  friar,  you  have  a  very  mean 
opinion  of  your  guests." 

"  As  host  I  must  disguise  my  feelings.  To-night, 
jester,  we  all  wear  masks." 

"  Express  yourself,  not  as  host,  but  as  a  godly  friar. 
Here  is  a  choice  collection  of  characters— your  friends, 
holy  man.  You  see  that  plump  female  dressed  as  a 
nun  ;  her  body  round  like  a  barrel.  She  loves  a  cut  of 
beef,  I  warrant.   What,  as  a  friar,  do  you  think  of  her? " 

"  For  all  her  size  she  will  dance  the  hornpipe^  like 
your  sailor-boy,"  replied  Jacob  with  alacrity.  "  She 
has  a  large  family,  but  I  doubt  whether  she  could 
tell  you  the  names  of  her  children  ;  for,  as  a  lady  who 
desires  to  be  exceedingly  polite,  she  disdains  her  off- 
spring, and  leaves  them  to  be  educated  by  groom  and 
chambermrid.  But  she  is  a  very  respectable  person, 
who  promotes  the  cause  of  gaming,  and  has  already 
run  through  a  great  part  of  her  fortune." 

"  People  much  given  to  playing  cardf  are  sometimes 
in  need  of  your  assistance,  friar  ?  " 
"  Why,  jester,  that  is  true." 

"  You  preach  a  sermon,  friar ;   and  very  properly 
demand  a  fee  in  return  for  your  eloquence  ?  " 
"  A  modest  fee,  jester." 
"  I  understand,  friar,  you  are  noted  for  modesty. 


<4 


/ 


3i6 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


II II 


But  how  does  the  Italian  Sh'   '  «rdess  appear  to  your 
priestly  eye  ?  " 

"  You  will  perceive,  jester,  her  one  idea  is  to  fas- 
cinate the  men.  Her  husband  is  a  plodding  fellow, 
who  keeps  at  his  business  to  supply  her  with  the  latest 
fashions,  and  to  enable  her  to  make  a  figure  in  the  county. 
She  hates  the  man  for  the  meanness  of  his  stature  and 
the  poorness  of  his  wit ;  while  he  is  so  infatuated  with 
her  charms — ^which  nobody  but  himself  has  been  able 
to  discover — that  he  indulges  her  in  every  whim,  and 
is  mighty  pleased  to  feel  her  foot  upon  his  neck." 

"  May  I  presume,  friar,  that  the  husband  requires  a 
loan  occasionally  ?  " 

"  And  let  me  assure  you,  jester,  he  gets  it  so  low  as 
ten  per  centum." 

"  There  is  moderation  indeed !  And  who  is  the 
gentleman  with  a  chin  of  unpolished  mahogany,  who 
appears  in  the  character  of  the  devil  ?  " 

"  Ah,  jester  !  you  see  how  well  he  plays  the  deputy 
for  his  master ;  and  that  is  a  position  he  can  easily 
support  as  he  has  great  wealth.  His  grandfather,  let 
me  inform  you,  was  a  convict  who  when  transported 
made  a  fortune  by  planting  sugar.  From  one  of  his 
by-blows  this  gentleman  descends  ;  and  he  possesses, 
I  do  assure  you,  far  less  virtue  than  his  ancesto" 
Indeed,  had  he  not  presented  large  sums  to  certaii. 
ministers  in  power,  he  would  long  ago  have  been 
carried  to  the  gallows." 

"  I  see  you  are  as  catholic  in  your  tastes  as  in  your 
dress,"  said  the  red  mask.  "  Pray  who  is  the  coxcomb, 
attired  as  an  orange-girl,  standing  near  the  convict's 
grandson  ?  I  never  saw  such  a  foppish  figure  of  a  man 
in  all  my  life." 

"Ho  I  ho !  "  laughed  the  friar.  "  What  will  you  say 
when  I  tell  you  the  orange-girl  is  a  general  of  the  army  ? " 

"  That  I  can  hardly  believe,"  said  the  jester. 

"  'Tis  true  nevertheless.  He  is  a  delicate  and  harm- 
less creature,  and  no  lady  in  the  land  has  a  toilette  so 


JACOB  GIVES  A  PARTY 


3x7 


well  furnished  with  powders  and  washes.  He  spends 
the  greater  part  of  his  day  before  a  mirror,  setting  of! 
his  person  to  the  highest  advantage.  He  not  only 
aspires  to  look  like  a  lady,  but  to  act  as  one ;  and 
should  a  mouse  run  across  the  room  you  would  see  my 
general  the  first  to  skip  upon  a  chair.  Now  he  has  grown 
so  weak  by  his  efleminate  ways  of  living  that  he  could 
not  advance  with  his  army  unless  carried  in  a  chair." 

"  The  gentleman  splendidly  attired  in  gold  as  a 
Sultan  is,  I  take  it,  a  man  of  some  importance  ?  " 
continued  the  jester. 

"  Merely  a  tailor,"  replied  Jacob,  "  who  has  gained 
a  fortune,  as  the  bird  of  prey  obtains  a  living,  with  his 
bill.  Having  obtained  money  like  a  knave,  he  now 
spends  it  like  a  fool  in  trying  to  make  a  figure  in  the 
county.  The  Quack-Doctor,  on  the  other  hand, 
desires  to  be  considered  a  knavv ,  though  he  is  nothing 
more  than  a  good-natured  fool.  He  owns  a  large 
property,  but  leaves  the  administration  of  it  to  lus 
wife,  whom  you  may  there  perceive  in  the  character 
of  Diana ;  though  she  is  twice  the  man  that  he  is. 
Possessing  neither  wit  nor  knavery,  he  trusts  all  men, 
believes  every  lie,  and  actually  supposes  Diana  is 
faithful." 

"  The  Vestal  yonder  has  long  engaged  my  attention, 
friar." 

"  She  is  of  very  common  birth,  but  has  made  herself 
important  by  laying  out  her  capital  of  beauty  to  the 
best  advantage  ;  although,  as  you  shall  perceive  when 
her  mask  is  off,  she  squandered  the  last  blush  of  a 
naturally  blooming  cb*ek  many  years  ago.  Her  father 
was  engaged  in  the  hbhing  trade,  and  upon  his  death 
she  goes  to  the  market  with  her  face,  and  has  the  good 
fortune  to  sell  herself  to  a  gentleman  just  arrived  from 
the  Indies.  My  lady,  having  caught  her  husband, 
proceeds  to  show  him  what  the  devil  of  a  creature 
woman  can  be  ;  and  for  my  part  I  am  heartily  sorry 
for  the  man,  who  is  never  seen  in  company  with  her,  as 


3i« 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


the  very  sight  of  him  provokes  her  to  fury.  At  home 
she  behaves  like  a  Bedlamite  ;  here  you  behold  her 
obliging  and  polite,  save  when  slio  loses  at  the  cards. 
Temper  has  destroyed  her  charms,  and  now  she  has 
nothing  to  live  for  except  dress.  I  should  be  sorry  to 
say  she  sees  fit  to  appear  as  a  vestal  because  that  is  of 
all  characters  the  most  unfitting ;  for,  speaking  as  a 
friar,  jester,  I  would  but  tell  the  truth,  and  would  not 
judge  my  fellow  creatures  harshly.  Yet  I  believe  you 
would  not  wish  to  be  her  husband." 

••  Not  for  the  world,  good  friar.  Who  is  the  Dryad 
standing  in  admiration  at  her  side  ?  " 

"  She  is  my  lady's  toad-eater." 

"  Yet  another  fine  character,  a  very  showy  person- 
age, and  gay  as  a  butterfly.  He  appears  as  a  rake,  and 
surely  he  does  not  wear  disguise." 

"  He  is  in  masquerade,  I  do  assure  you.  Can  you 
name  me  his  profession  ?  " 

"  By  my  soul,  I  cannot,  unless  he  be  a  dancing- 
master." 

"  Nay,  jester.    He  is  a  clergyman." 

"  You  have  a  mind  to  be  jocular,  friar.  That  caper- 
ing beau  a  parson !  Who  would  trust  his  soul  to  the 
care  of  a  butterfly  ?  " 

"  He  has  several  good  livings,  and  is  like  to  get  more. 
Once  during  five  years  he  makes  a  grand  tour  to  visit 
his  parishes  and  to  tease  his  curates  ;  for  'tis  a  point  of 
honour  with  him  to  have  preached  in  each  one  of  his 
churches.  He  is  a  man  bom  to  live  upon  the  labour  of 
his  fellow-creatures  without  doing  anything  to  deserve 
it ;  yet  he  has  a  passable  understanding  and  a  taste 
for  literature.  He  laughs  at  the  bishops ;  they  call 
him  coxcomb  ;  he  regards  them  little,  but  wraps  him- 
self up  in  his  pluralities  and  rolls  triumphant  through 
his  parishes." 

"  I  am  diverted  with  his  airs  and  graces.  He  is  as 
busy  as  a  bee  among  the  fair  sex  ;  and  I  may  suppose  he 
is  allowed  to  enjoy  a  tolerable  share  of  honey  ?  " 


JACOB  GIVES  A  PARTY  319 

"  That  is  indeed  the  case,  jester.  The  parson  is 
master  of  that  httle  talk  with  which  women  are  much 
pleased.  He  can  suit  his  company  to  a  card-table  or 
the  cock-pit.  He  is  too  well-bred  to  intrude  upon  the 
delicacy  of  those  whom  he  addresses ;  for  instance,  he 
would  never  think  of  conversing  with  another  parson 
upon  divinity,  or  with  a  lady  of  quality  upon  polite- 
ness ;  because  he  knows  these  are  subjects  they  have 
nothing  to  do  with." 

"  One  other  character  interests  me,  holy  man,"  said 
the  red  mask.  "  'Tis  yonder  long-shanked  fellow, 
who  masquerades  as  a  Roman  Consul.  He  seems  to 
be  in  a  mighty  fidget." 

"  He  is  a  doctor,  my  good  jester,  and  is  of  so  restless 
a  disposition  that  he  cannot  stand  in  one  place  for  more 
than  a  minute.  He  is  so  much  in  love  with  motion 
that,  before  midnight,  he  will  have  visited  every  comer 
of  this  mansion,  and  gone  in  the  dark  around  the 
garden.  'Tis  said  he  has  killed  so  many  patients  that 
his  conscience  now  surfers  from  St.  Vitus's  dance  ; 
therefore  he  appears  in  the  character  of  Roman  Consul, 
who  has  subjugated  a  territory  and  slaughtered  one 
half  of  the  inhabitants.  See  the  rogue  start !  You 
would  think  a  catchpole  was  at  his  shoulder.  And 
now,  my  good  jester,  I  am  sorry  to  desert  you,  but  I 
must  again  mingle  with  my  guests." 

"  You  have  diverted  me  exceedingly,  friar ;  and  I 
am  much  obliged  for  your  information.  Your  friends, 
I  perceive,  are  uncommonly  well  supplied  with  all  the 
vices." 

"  I  have  conversed  with  you,  jester,  in  my  character 
of  friar.  As  host  I  shall  discover  in  this  company  all 
the  virtues." 

"  We  shall  meet  again,  good  friar,"  cried  the  jester. 

They  parted  and  Jacob  saw  the  red  mask  no  more  ; 
nor  could  he  obtain  information  from  any  of  the  guests 
regarding  the  identity  of  this  stranger.  The  jester 
had  certainly  departed  ;  yet  no  horse  had  been  brought 


330 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


from  the  stable,  and  no  carriage  had  been  ordered. 
When  the  lady  in  the  character  of  Diana  observed  she 
had  not  felt  at  her  ease  in  the  motley's  presence, 
Jacob  trembled. 

About  three  o'clock  the  company  began  to  depart, 
many  of  them  glad  to  go,  for  there  had  been  quarrels 
between  some  of  the  masks,  of  whom  not  a  few  had 
dnmk  too  deeply ;  and  there  had  also  been  some 
awkward  recognitions.  An  hour  later  the  rooms  were 
empty  ;  the  last  tired  servant  had  gone  to  bed  ;  and 
the  house  was  in  darkness  save  in  the  saloon,  where 
candles  were  guttering  in  thek  sconces.  Jacob  flung 
back  the  shutters,  then  opened  the  windows  to  dispel 
the  fumes.  He  sank  upon  a  chair  and  looked  out  for 
the  dawn. 

"  The  fools  are  gone,  the  lights  are  out,  the  treasure 
is  exhausted,"  he  muttered.  "  I  must  to  work  again. 
Now  I  play  the  last  card  and  claim  my  son ;  and  if 
Sir  Thomas  would  take  him  from  me  he  shall  pay  the 
ransom." 

He  was  staring  into  the  garden ;  and  by  the  raw 
light  all  the  strange  monsters  in  yew  and  box  and  holly 
appeared  to  live  and  move. 

"  The  hour  before  dawn  ;  when  men  sleep  tight  and 
burglars  are  abroad.  I  have  an  uneasiness  in  my  mind 
—I  feel  as  though  I  had  not  always  done  my  duty. 
Yet  I  am  fortified  by  the  knowledge  that  I  have 
reUgion.  I  preach,  I  baptise,  I  pray  in  public ;  and  if 
I  practise  no  religious  exercise  in  secret,  'tis  because  I 
would  have  men  know  I  am  no  hypocrite.  Who  was 
that  jester  ?  What  brought  him  here  ?  I  know  well 
he  received  no  invitation.  And  how  did  he  depart  ? 
And  why  were  my  guests  afraid  of  him  ?  As  I  sit  here 
— somewhat  afraid  of  sleep — ^watching  these  dying 
candles,  I  am  reminded  of  the  kitchen  yonder,  where 
I  sat  sifter  the  wench  had  robbed  me.  That  haze 
promises  the  dawn.  I  would  give  what  little  I  now 
possess  to  be  told  that  jester's  name.    What  little  I 


JACOB  GIVES  A  PARTY 


331 


possess — yet  in  a  few  days  the  fools  will  come  for 
advice ;  with  suk^s  to  invest,  with  property  to  sell ;  for 
many  I  know  are  dipped.  The  figure  was  much  the 
same — maybe  a  trifle  higher.  The  voice  not  familiar. 
One  minute  he  stood  in  yonder  doorway.  The  next " 

"  Jacob  Grambla  !  "  called  a  voice. 

Upon  the  threshold  stood  Red  Cap.  The  same 
apparition,  with  the  wound  upon  its  face,  and  the 
smoky  light  surrounding.  For  a  moment  Jacob  was 
conscious  only  that  melting  wax  was  dripping  on  the 
carpet.  Then  he  rose  shivering  to  his  feet. 

"  I  know  not  how  it  is,  yet  I  expected  ye.  I  feel  less 
terror  than  before.   By  that  I  know  I  have  not  done  ill." 

"  Take  off  that  habit,  Jacob  Grambla." 

"  You  are  welcome,"  stammered  the  lawyer.  "  This 
habit  indeed  means  nothing." 

"  While  wearing  it  you  found  no  virtue  in  your 
guests.    While  disguised  you  were  yourself." 

"  Come,  jester,  we  were  friends  a  few  hours  ago.  Let 
us  again  make  merry.  Can  it  be  that  you — a  spirit — 
mingled  with  my  guests  ?  " 

"  Approach  and  put  your  hands  upon  me — if  you 
have  the  courage.    Yet  I  warn  you  !  " 

"  It  is  past  cockcrow — ^yet  you  linger.  Surely  you 
cannot  survive  the  dawn." 

"  I  am  with  you  now — each  night — until  the  end." 

"  Do  you  lead  me  to  more  treasure  ?  " 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you,  when  we  stood  together  upon 
Great  Gwentor  .  .  .  ?  Nay,  I  perceive  you  remember 
my  warning  now.  How  have  you  spent  the  treasure  ? 
What  poor  creature  have  you  helped  ?  Every  guinea 
has  been  spent  upon  yourself.  Instead  of  lifting  the 
curse  from  me  by  your  good  endeavour,  you  have 
condemned  me  to  a  further  period  of  wandering  upon 
this  earth.    Soon  you  shall  wander  with  me." 

"  I  will  make  amends — give  all  I  have  to  the  poor." 

"  That  I  beUeve  you  cannot  do.  The  guinea  you 
offered  would  cling  to  your  hand  as  closely  as  the  skin," 


4  : 


i  ■ 

u 
if 
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I*' 


1     u  I 


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322 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  If  I  have  not  done  my  duty,  I  know  not  what  duty 
means." 
"  Remember  Ruth  !  " 

"  A  wicked  wench  who  robbed  me.    Ay,  and  the 

fellow  who  swore  he  was  her  brother  robbed  me  too.   I 

am  a  poor  simple  gentleman,  the  dupe  of  every  rascal." 

"  Remember  your  title  to  Comagehall.    Remember 

the  Clabars !  " 

Jacob  began  to  bite  his  fingers,  and  to  tremble. 
"  I  have  not  invented  my  profession,"  he  muttered. 

"  No  man  at  this  period  of  the  world's  histoi.      an 
be  so  ingenious  as  to  discover  a  new  crime.    Yet  he 
"'•  lose  his  soul  by  practising  the  old  ones." 

.\n  unpaid  debt." 
"  Of  a  few  guineas." 
"  Sir,  it  is  the  custom." 

"  Custom,  Jacob  Grambla,  fills  the  air  with  unhappy 
spirits,  Uke  myself,  who  long  to  escape,  but  cannot. 
No  more  words.  Henceforth  I  hav  't  you." 
"  Is  there  left  me  no  loophole  of  escape  ?  " 
"  None,  Jacob  Grambla.  Yet  you  may  escape  a 
great  part  of  your  punishment  by  restoring  this  pro- 
perty to  its  rightful  owner ;  and  by  proclaiming  to 
Moyle  the  truth  concerning  Ruth  and  Peter  Clabar." 

"  You  are  indeed  an  apparition  from  the  de?d," 
said  Jacob  hoarsely.  Then  he  cried, "  The  Ught  breaks  ! 
This  is  the  day  of  my  repentance." 

"  Too  late  for  your  happiness,"  replied  Red  Cap. 
"  Yet  not  too  late  for  your  salvation." 

"  I  shall  restore  the  property  to  the  Clabars— I  shall 
pay  every  man;  I  shall  live  in  poverty  ;  I  shall  go  out 
naked." 

"  Can  you  do  these  things  ?  " 
"  I  reform  from  this  hour.    I  go  to  sleep,  and  shall 
arise  a  new  man — a  poor  and  honest  gentleman." 

Mocking  laughter  sounded  through  the  saloon,  where 
the  flames  of  the  last  candles  leapt  from  dripping  wax  ; 
and  when  Jacob  looked  about  he  found  himself  alone. 


CHAPTER  VI 


A  DAY  OF  QUARRELS  ENDING  WELL 

Upon  visiting  the  churchyard  after  her  return,  Ruth 
was  mightily  astonished  to  find  her  mother's  grave 
protected  by  a  fence,  which  swine  could  not  uproot, 
and  churchwardens  were  afraid  to  destroy.  One  day 
while  bringing  her  offering  of  flowers,  Cherry  ap- 
proached upon  a  similar  pilgrimage  ;  but  she  carried 
wild-flowers  of  the  wood,  and  these  were  few  because 
summer  was  nearly  gone.  As  they  drew  together  it 
occurred  to  Ruth  that  Clabar's  handsome  son  was 
none  too  well-disposed  towards  her. 

"So  you  are  returned,  Mrs.  Ruth.  I  trust  you 
enjoyed  your  holiday  in  Wiltshire,"  said  Cherry. 

"  I  was  not  aware.  Master  Peter,  that  anybody 
knew  I  had  ^en  in  Wiltshire,"  replied  Miss  Runaway. 

"  Sir  Thomas  has  few  secrets  from  me  ;  even  though 
he  must  heap  favours  upon  you." 

"  You  are  much  mistaken.  Both  Sir  Thomas  and 
my  lady  are  somewhat  too  hard  upon  me.  I  am  for- 
bidden to  join  the  prayer-meeting  at  Master  Honey's, 
or  to  walk  about  Moyle  church-town.  I  may  not  even 
leave  the  castle  without  permission.  I  am  not  allowed 
to  forget  I  have  been  disobedient.  If  Sir  Thomas  tells 
you  everything,  it  may  be  you  know  my  name  and 
history." 

"  It  seems  I  have  my  own  history  to  discover. 

Yours  is  of  no  account  to  me,"  said  Cherry  impatiently. 
''  You  speak  very  strangely  for  a  young  gentleman." 
"  You  would  crow  over  me,  I  think.    You  have  a 

pretty  fine  opinion  of  yourself  because  you  are  a 

333 


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m 
I] 

■if 

( r 

•'I 


324  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

fortune,  and  you  beUeve  you  may  awate  some  morning, 
and  find  yourself  hailed  as  a  young  lady  of  quality. 
"  How  do  you  know  I  am  a  fort'one  ? 
"  Mr.  David  tells  me.   And  you  love  a  highwajjnan 
who  now  whistles  behind  the  plough  and  no  doubt 
robs  his  master.    God  help  the  farmer's  daughters  1 
"  For  shame,  Master  Peter  !  «:„!,+„  f„c« 

••  And  Sir  Thomas  must  needs  make  a  "Jghty  fuss 
overVour  mother's  grave,  while  he  leaves  the  restmg- 
p^Tmy  mother  to  the  sheep.  He  has  discovered 
your  histo^.  and  knows  your  mother  w^  some  ^eat 
LX  So  he  permits  you  to  bring  flowers  from 
Bezurrel  gardens  to  scatter  upon  her  grave  ;  while  I 
mustbe  satisfied  with  the  weeds  I  can  gather  m  the 
woolla^d  But  lady  or  no  lady.  I  shall  nde  over  you 
vet  although  I  possess  no  diamonds. 
• '  PiayVhat  would  a  young  gentleman  be  doing  with 

diamonds  ?  "  ,  , ,.     •  j  rv^^rn^r 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  wench  1     cned  Lherry. 
"  I  shaU  have  no  more  words  with  you.    I  would 
not  be  seen         Hrg  here  with  so  cowardly  a  fellow, 
i^d  Ruth,  as  wU.     imed  away. 

"  Ay  I  toow  >  -r  tastes.  You  are  for  the  man  who 
is  brav^  and  virtuous  ;  who  will  lie  behmd  hedges  and 
snaSh  a  purse  from  ladies  ^^^^  ^^„^J°^  ^,f  'i 
hundred  times.  Uke  goes  to  hke  Mistress  Ruth.  I 
vTh  vou  ioy  with  your  robber  and  long  bfe  m  yoi^  den 
^thieves  ButifeverlseeyouwaUdngonmymotherc 
^a^'Tshall  drag  you  out  of  the  churchyard  by  your 

^'tn  this  wicked  frame  of  mind  Miss  Jealousy  strode 
away  to  tidy  and  decorate  the  unfenced  grave,  which 
Xu?  later  was  as  desolate  as  before  ;  while  Ruth 
^uX  angry,  but  sorely  puzzled,  resolved  never  again 
S^^L  Sthe  young  bully,  who  could  so  far  abuse 
Ws^r  as  to  insult  a  maiden.  " Strong  and  hand- 
^mfhe  may  be."  she  murmured  "  but  I  woidd^ther 
enjoy  one  day  with  my  Harry  than  a  bfe  with  him. 


A  DAY  OF  QUARRELS  ENDING  WELL     325 

Cherry  retired  towards  home,  still  in  a  jealoiis 
frame  of  mind  ;  for  she  was  angered  by  the  stubborn 
silence  of  Sir  Thomas,  and  thought  it  intolerable  he 
should  lavish  love  and  attention  upon  the  grave  of 
Ruth's  mother,  merely  because  he  knew  she  had  been 
higher  in  rank  than  the  unfortunate  Mrs.  Clabar,  and 
far  more  beautiful ;  but,  when  nearing  the  turning, 
where  the  lane  beside  the  woods  touched  the  road  to 
Moyle,  she  heard  a  disturbance  which  robbed  her  of 
petty  spite  ;  and  waiting  saw  presently  a  rabble 
assembly  of  men  and  boys,  hooting  and  throwing 
refuse  at  the  tall  and  stately  figure  of  Father  Benedict, 
who  walked  in  front  with  a  cloak  drawn  round  his  head. 

"The  good  old  man  continually  provokes  the 
village.  I  have  warned  Sir  Thomas  his  life  would  be  in 
danger,"  Cherry  whispered. 

A  little  man,  richly  dressed,  leapt  forward  and 
seizing  the  cloak,  held  on  with  wondrous  valour, 
shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice  : 

"  To  the  pond  with  the  bald-pate  !  The  law  is  with 
us.  No  priest  is  allowed  in  this  good  protestant 
country.    Come,  neighbours,  kick  the  Jesuit  fox !  " 

"  Jacob  Grambla — active  at  last !  "  muttered  Cherry. 
Then  she  passed  to  the  hedge  and  broke  away  a  rod  of 
hazel. 

The  rabble  did  not  advance.  Its  members  were 
horribly  afraid  of  the  old  priest  and,  although  disposed 
to  persecute  an  alien — more  in  the  way  of  natural  feel- 
ing than  in  obedience  to  their  leader,  who  had  aroused 
their  passions — they  were  not  in  the  mood  to  duck 
him.  For  they  feared  the  priest's  master.  Besides 
Jacob  grew  unpopular ;  he  had  robbed  many  a 
parishioner,  and  he  was  plainly  under  the  displeasure 
of  heaven,  for  all  his  prayers  and  sermons,  since  a 
spirit  had  been  sent  to  haunt  him. 

"  Were  this  fellow  in  a  town  he  would  be  clapped 
immediately  into  jail,"  Jacob  went  on.  "This  is 
country,  and  he  finds  himself  protected  by  Sir  Thomas 


'fi 


I 


326 


MOYLE  CHXJRCH-TOWN 


Just — ^who,  I  declare  to  you,  neighbours,  is  the  foulest 
wizard  in  the  world — therefore  he  may  go  about  our 
church-town,  spy  into  our  houses,  and  do  the  devil's 
work  with  half  our  young  folk." 

"  He  has  done  much  good,"  cried  Cherry,  stepping 
forward.  "  He  has  paid  the  rent  of  many  of  your 
tenants,  whom  you  would  gladly  have  driven  out  into 
the  fields." 

"  Ah,  young  gentleman  !    So  you  and  I  meet !  " 

"  And  I  have  sworn  to  whip  you." 

"  Do  so  then  !  "  shouted  the  valiant  Jacob,  drawing 
his  sword  to  oppose  her  rod  of  hazel ;  so  that  even  the 
idlers  shouted  in  disgust. 

"  Fair  play,  master,"  called  a  voice.  "  Put  up  your 
weapon  and  go  at  young  gentleman  with  your  hands." 

"  That  he  will  never  do,"  cried  Cherry  scornfully. 

"  I  will  pay  them  all  and  free  myself,"  howled  Jacob. 

"  Stand  aside,"  said  the  priest  to  Cherry  in  a  voice 
that  compelled  obedience. 

"  Moyle  has  been  tormented  by  witchcraft  since 
Sir  Thomas  brought  this  fox  to  dwell  among  us. 
Himself  a  wizard,  he  brings  a  wife,  a  most  notorious 
enchantress,  who  has  bound  us  all  by  magic  spells," 
shouted  Jacob,  having  prudently  turned  his  back  on 
Cherry.  "  If  we  do  not  end  it,  there  will  be  neither 
man  nor  woman  in  the  place  who  shall  escape  destruc- 
tion. To  the  pond  with  this  sneaking  Jesuit !  Assist 
me,  neighbours,  else  I  shall  denounce  the  lot  of  ye  ;  I 
shall  have  the  law  against  the  whole  commimity — ay, 
I  shaU  swear  you  gave  protection  to  the  Catholics." 

"  Back !  "  cried  Cherry,  as  some  of  the  hot-heads 
threatened. 

"  Young  Peter  has  also  been  seduced  by  him.  To 
the  pond  with  him  I  "  yelled  Jacob. 

"  Nay,  he  is  one  of  ourselves.    He  is  a  parishioner." 

"  My  good  nonconformists,"  began  the  priest,  facing 
the  rabble  with  some  appearance  of  contempt.  "  So 
I  believe  you  call  yourselves,  and  for  my  psurt  I  care 


A  DAY  OF  QUARRELS  ENDING  WELL     327 

little  what  name  of  religion  you  take  so  long  as  you 
are  Christian  in  your  lives.  I  freely  admit  the  Catholic 
priest  is  not  permitted  in  this  land  ;  yet  a  gentleman 
of  that  religion  must  have  his  minister.  If  I  disobey 
the  law,  what  of  yourselves,  who  have  but  lately 
broken  from  the  church,  as  by  law  established,  and 
now  spend  your  nights  defying  it  ?  " 

"  Do  not  listen,  my  lads.  He  is  an  idolater  and  an 
Antichrist.  He  raises  spirits,"  Jacob  shouted,  still 
harping  upon  the  same  old  string,  since  all  the  rest 
were  broken. 

"  Where  is  the  man  who  has  harmed  you,  who  has 
brought  misery  into  Moyle,  and  dif&culties  into  the 
lives  of  its  inhabitants  ?  "  the  priest  continued.  "  He 
is  not  Sir  Thomas  Just,  whom  you  call  an  alien,  and 
believe  is  indifferent  to  you.  He  is  not  Father  Benedict, 
who  devotes  his  life  to  study  and  to  ministry.  Who  is 
the  man  who  has  given  you  ill  advice,  who  has  in- 
vested your  money  so  carelessly  as  to  lose  it,  who  has 
taken  your  property,  and  made  this  parish  one  of  the 
poorest  m  al!  Cornwall  ?  There  stands  the  •nan,  my 
friends — ^improtected,  hated,  haunted  !  " 

Jacob  spning  out  like  a  maniac  to  beat  at  the  priest 
with  his  sword ;  and  when  it  was  snatched  from  him 
by  Cherry,  again  appealing  wildly  for  assistance.  A 
few  rough  men  came  forward,  not  out  of  love  for 
Jacob,  but  in  anger  at  the  alien's  domineering  manner  ; 
and  there  must  have  followed  a  scene  of  violence, 
perhaps  of  murder,  had  not  the  priest  advanced  to 
meet  them,  dropping  his  cloak,  throwing  off  his  hat, 
and  removing  the  grey  beard  from  his  face.  While 
Jacob  threw  out  his  arms  in  terror,  and  every  one 
wished  himself  at  home  or  out  to  sea. 

"  A  master  may  only  learn  the  truth  by  going  among 
his  servants  in  disguise,"  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  I  have 
some  kindness  for  my  people.  I  know  their  lives  ; 
I  have  watched  over  their  affairs.  As  for  this  man," 
he  continued,  looking  stem  /  at  Jacob,  seeing  more 


328 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


back  than  front,  "  he  and  I  meet  for  the  first  time. 
Nor  will  it  be  long  before  we  meet  again — ^and  then, 
I  trust,  he  will  allow  me  to  see  his  face." 

For  Jacob  was  slinking  away  like  a  frightened  dog. 

"  Is  it  your  wish,  sir,  that  we  should  throw  him  in 
the  pond  ?  "  inquired  a  rough  fellow  with  the  utmost 
reverence. 

"  Let  him  walk  with  his  sins,"  replied  Sir  Thomas  ; 
then  he  turned  away  with  Cherry,  and  the  rabble 
hurried  back  to  spread  in  Moyle  the  news  that  the 
lord  of  Bezurrel  cared  for  the  people,  while  Jacob 
Grambla  was  not  worth  a  gwean. 

"  I  thought  I  knew  you,  sir ;  but  it  appears  I  do 
not.  When  you  spoke  to  me  just  now  I  supposed  you 
had  made  that  grey  beard  grow  upon  your  face,"  said 
Cherry. 

"  You  are  far  from  knowing  me,  child,  if  you  still 
believe  I  am  a  magician,"  he  answered. 

"  May  I  doubt  what  is  well  known  ?  " 

"  By  the  dull  and  superstitious,  child.  You  are 
neither  one  nor  the  other.  Yet  I  find  you  accepting 
folk-tales." 

"  When  we  first  met,  you  penetrated  my  disguise." 

"  By  human  intelligence,  child." 

"  You  read  my  fortune  from  a  printed  book." 

"  Nay,  child,  I  read  from  the  impressioiis  of  my 
mind." 

"  You  knew  Ruth's  mother — ^you  have  fenced  in  her 
grave." 

"  I  did  not  know  Ruth's  mother ;  yet  I  believe  she 
was  a  worthy  woman." 

"  You  declare  I  am  not  Clabar's  daughter." 

"  I  am  about  to  claim  you  as  my  daughter." 

"  You  cannot  make  me  your  daughter  except  by 
magic." 

"  Or  by  matrimony.  It  is  upon  that  subject  I  desire 
to  speak.  I  should  have  sent  for  you  this  evening  had 
we  not  met." 


A  DAY  OF  QUARRELS  ENDING  WELL     339 

"  Let  us  first  close  up  this  argiunent.  If  you  tell  me 
you  have  no  spells,  I  must  believe.  Yet  Mother 
Gothal,  a  poor  ignorant  woman,  is  a  witch ;  and  she 
declares  you  are  her  master  in  the  black  art." 

"  Mother  Gothal  is  indeed  ignorant ;  and  I  fear  a 
great  perverter  of  the  truth.  My  ordinary  intelligence 
is  witchcraft  to  her  ignorance.  You,  with  uncommon 
wit  and  learning,  mistake  a  student  for  a  wizard.  Fie, 
child  !  You  are  little  better  in  this  respect  than  these 
Moyle  wiseacres,  who  suppose  that  my  lady  and  my- 
self proceed  here  from  the  East — France  or  Arabia 
'tis  the  East  to  them — furnished  with  all  the  enchant- 
ments of  the  ages.  My  lady  is  a  sorceress  indeed,  for 
she  has  bound  me  by  a  spell  which  shall  not  be  broken  ; 
but  the  only  arts  she  practises  are  commonly  known 
as  music  and  painting — these,  child,  did  not  originate 
in  heU." 

"  But,  sir,  the  apparition  which  now  haunts 
Grambla !  " 

"Well,  child!    What  of  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  your  work." 

"  That  I  may  not  deny." 

"  If  you  caii  up  spirits  of  the  dead,  you  are — and 
must  be — the  most  potent  of  magicians." 

"  A  few  minutes  ago  I  was  Father  Benedict ;  now 
I  am  Sir  Thomas  Just.  The  change  has  been  effected 
without  magic.  A  little  trickery  plays  havoc  with 
the  guilty  conscience  of  a  rogue.  Even  a  ghost  may 
appear  upon  the  stage,  and  if  he  mimes  well  must  give 
a  thrill.  But  now  that  we  speak  of  Grambla,  let  me 
again  forewarn  you.   Has  he  yet  shown  friendliness  ?  " 

"  To-day,  sir,  was  the  first  time  I  ever  spoke  with 
him." 

"  He  wiU  come,"  said  Sir  Thomas  firmly,  "  and  will 
make,  I  believe,  a  mighty  protestation  of  affection  for 
John  Clabar.  When  that  time  comes  you  will  send  me 
word." 

"  Grambla  i-  love  would  not  be  Grambla." 


530  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

"  But  Grambla  offering  lov  j  for  hatred  is  himself. 
You  toe  him  now  aroused,  fighting  for  property,  fair 
name— ay,  for  life  itself.  His  fortune  is  exhausted, 
and  he  now  perceives  he  has  lost,  while  spending  it, 
his  former  influence,  by  making  new  fnends  at  a 
distance  and  despising  the  old  ones  amongst  whom  he 
lives.  He  is  also  oppressed  by  the  terror  of  exposure. 
"  And  above  all,  sir,  he  dreads  your  power." 
"  Supposing,  like  yourself,  my  Cherry,  that  I  know 
everythmg,  and  can  read  his  secrets,  as  I  once  feigned 
to  read  your  future  from  the  musty  pages  of  Sidney  s 

Arcadia." 

They  were  now  in  the  woodland,  walking  along  a 
pleasant  pathway  overhung  with  honeysuckle. 

"  I  am  young  and  strong.    Let  me  bear  the  pnest, 
said  Cherry  archly ;   and  Sir  Thomas  smUed  in  his 
grave  fashion  while  placing  his  late  disguise  upon  her 

"  You  too  are  an  enchantress,  child  ;  yet  all  charm- 
mg  women  belong  to  that  race,"  he  said.  "  You  have 
transformed  Bezurrel  Woods ;  many  a  flower  grows  here 
which  I  did  not  note  last  season.  I  find  it  hard  to  grow 
displeased  with  you— for  is  not  this  your  territory  ? 

"  If  you  frown,  sir,  I  must  bid  you  go." 

"  Ay,  I  have  heard  often  of  your  tyranny.  Beneath 
it  poor  John  Clabar  has  quite  lost  his  sullenness." 

"  No  sour  face  enters  my  woods,  nor  walks  beneath 
my  honeysuckle.    Such  is  the  law,  sir.    Would  you 

threaten  me  ? "  .     ,        . 

"  Such  is  my  desire.  This  monung  I  was  m  a  passion, 
as  my  lady  will  tell  you.  It  was  when  I  had  received 
your  artful  message." 

"  Was  it  not  well  done  ?  I  placed  my  letter  m  the 
volume,  so  that  it  should  fall  open  at  the  title  of  Love's 
Labour's  Lost;  and  I  gave  the  book  to  David,  for  it 
was  proper  that  he  should  deliver  it  into  your  hand. 

"  It  was  not  well  done." 

"  It  is  not  well  to  speak  the  truth  ?  " 


-I 


A  DAY  OF  QUARRELS  ENDING  WELL     331 

"  It  caw^  s  disappointment,  even  bitterness.  Child, 
you  treat  wbe  future  as  a  house  of  cards ;  and  sweep 
all  down  with  one  wilful  movement  of  your  hand." 

"  I  look  upon  the  future  as  I  have  regarded  these 
woods — over  which  I  reign.  I  have  sown  my  seeds, 
and  you.  Sir  Sourface,  would  trample  on  the  spring- 
ing years." 

"  You  grow  too  bold." 

"  And  you  too  serious.     I  do  not  recognise  the' 
Frown  King.    I  will  make  no  treaty  with  him.    A 
potent  monarch  he  may  be  across  the  lane,  but  a 
Ftetender  here." 

"  This  letter  is  your  ultimatum  ?  " 

"  Not  my  challenge,  but  my  prayer.  I  declare 
peace.  Sir  Thomas  ;  and  I  ask  for  happiness." 

"  If  you  had  spoke  of  this  before  !  " 

"  I  could  not  speak,  not  even  in  these  garments, 
until  I  had  discovered  that  to  obey  your  wishes  was 
impossible." 

"  This  means  more  to  me  than  you  can  dream  of." 

"  Consider  what  it  means  to  me.  Sir,  when  happi- 
ness and  ambition  race  together,  both  cannot  win  the 
prize.  Ambition  is  commonly  blown  at  the  end  of  the 
first  stage,  and  then  it  fouls  happiness,  with  the  result 
that  sorrow,  which  started  like  the  toi  toise,  passes  the 
two  of  them.  I  enter  happiness  only  for  the  race,  and 
would  win  or  lose  with  that." 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  Sir  Thomas  asked,  as  they  drew 
near  the  stream. 

"  A  summer-house  which  I  have  made  these  last 
few  weeks.  The  sun  is  caught  in  it  early,  and  cannot 
escape  until  evening.  I  believe  my  father  turns  poet, 
for  he  sits  here  to  write  ;  but  hides  the  paper  when  he 
seeb  me  coming.  Is  it  not  strange  how  men  are  ashamed 
to  be  caught  writing  poetry  ?  " 

"  No  more  of  this,"  said  Sir  Thomas  almost  roughly. 
"  I  shall  here  make  my  last  appeal ;  and  if  it  fails — 
why  then  you  must  go  your  wilful  way." 


m 


33a 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


••  With  your  blessing.  SIT  ?  „ 

••  That  I  cannot  withhold.    Come  into  this  arbour. 
"  There  is  a  formality  which  you  would  overlook. 
Will  it  please  you  to  smile  first  ?  " 
"  Come,  child  !  "  he  said  impatiently  ;  but  with  the 

words  complied.  ^      ..  u  j 

They  sat  in  the  arbour  so  long  that  the  sun  had 
escaped  before  they  left.  Cherry  was  now  more 
dignified,  but  happy,  and  she  was  inclined  to  feci 
shame  at  the  roughness  of  her  hands.  Moreover  she 
declared  her  neck  was  brown.  They  advanced  a 
little  way  upward;  for  mist  was  rising  from  the 
water— yet  the  wood  was  in  splendour  at  the  close 
of  day— while  Cherrj'  could  smell  the  trees,  the  sea. 

and  the  moor.  ^      ,,    ,         -t 

"  How  glorious  is  life  !  "  she  shouted  suddenly,  as  if 

unable  to  control  herself. 

"  What  is  your  answer  ? "  Sir  Thomas  asked 
tenderly  ;  they  were  walking  arm  in  arm. 

"  The  same.  A  woman  will  often  change  her  mind  ; 
but  once  in  her  life  she  has  it  fixed.  Poor  Ruth !  I 
am  sorry  I  lost  my  temper  w:th  her  ;  for  she  has  little, 
and  I  have  much.    Poor  sister  Ruth  !  " 

"  Her  happiness  is  assured." 

"  I  am  aln  ost  afraid  to  return  to  Halcyon.  John 
Clabar  loves  me  so  well  it  will  almost  break  his  heart 
to  lose  me."  .    ^^ 

"  I  go  now  to  speak  with  David. 

"  Where  is  Martin  ?  " 

"  In  London."  ,        ^  .     .   ., 

"  A  woodland  life— yet  I  have  been  happy  in  it, 
she  said.    "  In  poverty,  in  romance,  as  bov  or  girl,  I 
have  been  happy.    Must  you  go  ?    I  do  not  hke  to 

part  with  you  now."  ,  ,     , .  u 

"  Come  in  the  morning  to  Bezurrel,  for  I  have  much 

more  to  tell  you.  Good  night,  sweet  daughter  mine." 
"  Good  night,  my  dearest  father." 


CHAPTER   VII 


JACOB'S   LAST  STAKE 

Once  more  Jacob  trod  the  rocky  pathway  to  Mother 
Gothal's  hovel;  which  was  the  shrine  of  the  only 
religion  he  could  comprehend.  During  twenty  years 
he  had  visited  that  place,  supposing  himself  to  be 
master  of  the  witch,  yet  never  discovering  he  was  her 
dupe.   And  now  at  last  he  came  to  save  his  life. 

The  old  woman  sat  beside  her  fire,  a  cat  upon  each 
side,  and  bunches  of  herbs  above  her  head.  One  brown 
hand  stirred  the  pot,  while  the  other  held  a  fragment 
of  clay  pipe  between  her  gums.  She  looked  so  much 
mor  wicked  than  she  was.  Appearance,  hovel,  even 
smoke  and  odours,  were  necessary  for  her  existence ; 
since  nobody  would  have  waited  upon  a  witch  who  sat 
in  a  neat  parlour,  with  a  bright  kettle  singing  on  the 
hearth,  and  a  canary  trilling  at  the  window. 

"Master  Grambla  1  "  she  c-ied.     "You  ha'  been 

long  a-coming." 

"  Red  Cap  is  returned  ;  he  comes  to  my  rout,  mixes 
with  my  guests  in  jestei  s  garb ;  speaks  to  them  a  id 
to  me  like  a  fellow  of  the  town  ;  and  at  dawn  appears 
in  his  own  malignant  shape  He  now  haunts  me  every 
night.  He  walks  with  me  in  the  garden.  He  follows 
to  the  house.    He  threatens  to  stay  with  me  to  the 

end." 

So  Jacob  gabbled,  falling  to  his  knees  before  the 
witch  upon  whose  wisdom  he  depended. 

"  I  say  you  ha'  been  long  a-coming,  Master  Gram- 
bla," she  repeated  sourly,  drawing  her  grimy  skirt  from 
contact  with  his       ^"« 


334  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dear  Mammy  ?  " 

"  While  you  be  spending  fortunes  you  never  come 
near  me." 

"  I  sent  you  a  silk  gown  and  a  purse  of  money." 

"  You  never  sent  me  meat.  You  never  came  to 
pass  a  word  of  kindness  wi'  old  mother.  You  promised 
to  build  me  a  house  wi'  two  floors,  Master  Grambla." 

"  rU  do  it  yet.  Mammy.  I'll  build  you  a  proper 
house,  if  you  come  with  me  to  CoinagehaU  and  lay  this 
spirit.  And  you  are  to  prepare  a  brew  for  Sir  Thomas, 
and  drench  him  with  it  at  new  moon,  so  that  he  may 
lose  his  cursed  power.  I  would  have  you  settle  him  to 
the  day  of  doom ;  for  he  has  gone  about  Moyle,  dis- 
guised as  his  old  priest,  who  I  now  perceive  never 
leaves  the  castle.  He  has  gathered  information  against 
me — has  listened  to  the  lies  of  gossip — and  now  sends 
this  hellish  Red  Cap  for  my  ruin.  I  am  alone.  Mammy. 
Even  my  servants  run  from  a  haunted  master." 

"  He  sent  him  once  to  be  your  fortune.  Tell  me  this, 
master— why  did  Sir  Thomas  make  you  rich  ?  You 
cannot  answer,  so  I'll  tell  ye.  When  a  magician  calls 
up  spirits  he  ain't  allowed  to  choose ;  he  must  take 
the  one  who  answers.  There's  a  plenty  of  red  caps  in 
the  land  of  spirits.  Some  be  big  and  sime  be  little ; 
some  be  fat  and  some  be  thin.  But  all  of  them  ha'  hid 
away  money  in  their  lifetimes.  If  a  red  cap  comes  to 
a  gentleman  once,  'tis  well ;  but  if  he  comes  twice, 
'tis  mortal  ill— for  he  don't  wear  the  cap  his  second 
visit." 

"  Why,  that's  the  truth.  He  appears  to  me  now 
with  a  head  uncovered;  but  he  smelk  the  same. 
Mammy— always  most  vUlainously  of  brimstone." 

"  Your  time  ha'  come,  master,"  said  Mother  Gothal. 
"  I'll  serve  ye  no  longer,  lest  I  be  moonstruck.  I  won't 
go  to  CoinagehaJl,  for  sun,  moon,  and  stars  be  all  agin 
ye.  And  I  dare  not  brew  a  pot  of  broth  to  drench  Sir 
Thomas,  for  he  would  strike  stifi  a  poor  old  witch  body. 
The  devil  himself  goes  a  tiptoe  when  he  hears  Sir 


JACOB'S  LAST  STAKE  335 

Thomas  coming.    You  ha'  heen  too  long  a-coming. 
Master  Grambla." 

"  Here  is  a  purse,  Mammy.  I  will  give  you  all— 
my  house  and  land,  my  cottages,  my  mortgages — if 
you  can  set  me  free." 

"  Keep  your  gold,  master.  'Tis  the  first  time  I  ha' 
refused  money,  and  'twill  be  the  last,  I  reckon.  I  likes 
to  sleep  o'  nights,  and  if  I  took  your  money  now  I 
would  be  scratched  by  hell-cats.  Give  Coinagehall 
back  to  the  Clabars— and  learn  the  truth,  master." 

"  What  truth.  Mammy  ?  " 

"  Ay,  and  tell  me  the  truth,"  cried  Mother  Gothal. 
"  You  have  played  with  all  Moyle  and  robbed  half  the 
folk  in  it ;  but  you  can't  play  wi'  a  witch  for  ever.  Sit 
you  there,  master,  till  I  call." 

She  dropped  her  pipe  and  went  out  of  the  hovel.  At 
her  summons  Jacob  arose  and  followed  her  outside. 
The  day  was  clouded.  Mother  Gothal  stood  beside 
the  spring  of  clear  water,  where  the  maids  of  Moyle 
came  upon  Maundy  Thursday  to  throw  in  buttons, 
and  tell  their  future  by  the  number  of  bubbles  that 
uprose ;  and,  while  pointing  at  the  water  with  her 
magic  wand,  she  told  the  superstitious  man  to  kneel 
and  gaze  into  the  depths. 

"  It  is  dark ;  the  water  seems  to  boil,"  he  muttered. 
"Ah,  now  I  see  a  picture — a  figure  upon  the  cliff, 
holding  a  lantern." 

"  Do  ye  know  the  man.  Master  Grambla  ?  " 

"  The  water  lies  !  I  am  no  wrecker." 

"  Go  back,"  commanded  the  witch.  "  Come  again 
when  I  call  ye.  I  may  not  charm  the  water  in  your 
presence." 

A  minute  later  Jacob  knelt  again  by  the  enchanted 
spring  ;  and  now  the  water  seemed  darker  than  before. 

"  I  have  seen  that  room,"  he  muttered,  breathing 
Iwavily.  "  That  man  with  the  child  in  his  arms,  look- 
ing down  upon  the  bed — ^he  is  myseii.  There  is  no 
movement." 


336 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  'Tis  the  past,"  said  Mother  Gothal. 

"  This  is  very  like  your  former  home." 

"  Where  am  I  ?  " 

"  I  know  not.    Here  are  two  infants — ^and  myself." 

"  Now,  master,  confess  you  ha'  played  the  rogue." 

"  Does  Sir  Thomas  know  of  this  ?  " 

"  That's  nought  to  me.  Go  your  way,  master,  for 
I  have  done  with  ye.  I  help  no  man  who  is  cursed  by 
heaven  and  haimted  by  hell.  Go  your  way  yonder  1 " 
she  cried,  pointing  towards  the  summit  of  Great 
Gwentor. 

"  Help  me.  Mammy  !  Save  me — I  believe  you  can. 
I  have  sdways  protected  you.  When  they  would  have 
thrown  you  into  the  pond,  to  sink  or  swim,  I  would  not 
let  them.  Surround  me  with  your  enchantments — ^lay 
this  fearful  spirit.  Nay,  if  you  command  me  to  go  upon 
my  hands  and  knees  before  Sir  Thomas,  I  shall  do  so." 

"  Go  to  Master  Honey's,  and  when  the  folk  are 
gathered  about  ye,  stand  up  and  confess  your  sins. 
Tell  Toby  Penrice,  before  all  the  people,  how  you 
robbed  him.  P&y  your  servants  the  wages  due  to  them. 
Go  to  Master  Clabar  and  give  him  back  his  home." 

"  These  thuigs  I  cannot  do  ;  but  I  shall  at  least  live 
honestly." 

"Too  late,"  cried  the  witch,  going  towards  her 
hovel. 

"  Mammy  1  Is  there  no  more  treasure  hid  upon  this 
moor  ?  " 

"  What  would  you  do  with  treasure  ?  " 

"  I  would  pay  my  debts — ^and  help  a  few  poor 
widows." 

"  You  would  keep  all,  and  spend  all  on  yourself. 
I'll  have  no  more  words  with  ye,  lest  I  be  cursed.  But 
I'U  have  ye  to  know  'tis  an  ill  deed  to  cheat  a  witch. 
'Tis  our  last  meeting,  Master  Grambla.  Get  you  gone, 
wrecker  and  robber — and  forget  John  and  Cherry 
Clal^r  if  you  can." 

Jacob  went,  stumbling  over  the  rocks  ;  while  Mother 


JACOB'S  LAST  STAKE 


337 


Gothal,  with  many  a  chuckle  of  delight,  dipped  her 
arm  into  the  spring  and  drew  out  a  little  dark  oU  paint- 
ing which,  like  its  companion  picture;  had  been  made 
by  Lady  Just,  to  fit  an  occasion  such  as  this.  She 
carried  them  both  into  her  den  ;  relighted  her  fragmert 
of  pipe  ;  then  began  to  prepare  for  departure,  knowin, 
that  the  time  had  arrived  when  it  would  be  necessary 
to  hidd  herself  in  the  castle  of  i3ezurrel. 

"  He'll  come  to-night,  or  send  a  gang,  to  end  me  ; 
a  few  of  them  what  pray  wi'  him  will  work  for  him — 
but  not  many,  my  dear,  and  next  week  there'll  be  none  ; 
folk  go  shy  of  a  man  that's  haunted,"  she  said  joyously. 
"  Twenty-five  years  I  ha'  been  a  witci;  and  got  a  living 
by  it ;  but  I  don't  know  how  any  one  be  the  worse  for 
what  I've  said  and  done.  And  soon  I'll  live  in  a  cottage 
wi'  two  floors,  my  dear.  And  I'll  learn  to  read  the 
Bible,  which  be  full  o'  the  bravest  witchery  in  the 
world.  And  I'll  wear  my  silk  gown,  and  dance  at  two 
more  weddings — ay,  and  I'll  cut  my  I  ard  off  first. 
And  if  I  don't  drink  a  bottle  at  each  wedding— la,  my 
dear,  two  bottles — may  I  be  pinched  for  it." 

Cherry,  an  hour  later,  saw  the  meagre  figure  of  Jacob 
from  a  window  of  Halcyon  ;  and  in  a  calm  voice  called 
Clabar  from  his  scribbling.  Together  they  watched 
the  man  who  walked  so  lifelessly. 

"  Now  our  enemy  comes  at  last.  He  opens  the  for- 
bidden pathway  when  it  is  too  late,"  she  said. 

"  Do  not  abuse  him,"  begged  the  fearful  Clabar. 

"  I  shall  not  lay  a  finger  on  him.  He  is  whipped 
enough." 

Then  she  opened  the  door ;  and,  seeing  her,  Jacob 
smiled  and  tried  to  amble  at  his  ease  along  tlte  pathway. 

"  Friends  !  "  he  began.  "  You  wondci  wb.y  I  have  so 
long  delayed  to  visit  ye.  Ah,  John  Clabar  I  these  be 
old  times  again.  The  office  was  never  the  same  when 
you  had  departed.  I  missed  my  friend  and  coimsellor. 
Ah,  John,  I  would  fortune  had  permitted  you  to  stay 
with  me." 


338 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  I  remember  you  did  not  encourage  me  to  stay," 
said  Clabar. 

"  111  times,  neighbour.  I  could  not  afford  a  clerk ; 
and,  as  you  know,  I  engaged  no  other.  Clabars  and 
Gramblas  have  always  been  good  friends.  I  loved 
your  father " 

"  Is  it  your  way  to  express  love  by  depriving  friends 
of  property,  and  by  driving  them  from  their  homes  ?  " 
asked  Cherry. 

"  Young  gentleman,  you  and  I  are  about  to  become 
acquainted,"  said  Jacob  suavely.  "  Your  grandfather 
sold  me  Coinagehall,  though  I  was  ill  disposed  to  take 
it ;  but  a  poor  man,  gentlemen — a  mere  attorney — 
must  get  what  he  can.  As  for  the  other  affair— wWch 
was  indeed  unfortunate — I  was  the  tool  played  with, 
the  corpus  vile  experimented  upon — I  have  no  great 
strength  of  mind,  John,  as  you  very  well  know — ^the 
pliant  wand  was  I,  so  to  speak,  of  the  rogue  Toby,  who 
harboured  every  feeling  of  resentment  against  thee, 
friend  John,  knowing  you  had  caught  him  once  with 
a  sackful  of  hares,  and  believing  it  was  you  that  lodged 
the  information  which  brought  him  into  trouble. 
Gentleman,  I  am  a  dupe,  a  fool — ^I  was  intended  for 
the  life  of  idle  squire.  I  have  been  in  good  truth  an 
idiot  at  these  conveyances,  mortgages,  investments, 
and  the  like.  Preaching,  praying,  that  I  might  have 
done.  Ay,  I  could  have  made  a  curate.  I  was  trustee 
for  Toby — a  deep  rascal,  I  promise  you  ;  that  simplicity 
of  his,  it  will  not  do — I  invested  the  sum  in  the  South 
Sea  Company,  and  it  went  with  my  own  small  savings  ; 
all  was  caught  away  in  that  damnable  whirlpool.  Toby 
would  not  spare  me  unless  I  gave  him  your  cottage, 
John — ay,  and  would  have  me  get  you  out  of  Moyle 
to  boot.  For,  said  he,  this  Clabar,  by  some  cunning  of 
the  pen,  by  some  clerkly  trick,  has  signed  away  my 
fortune.  The  two  families  could  never  agree  ;  for 
Ciabars  have  been  alwajrs  honest,  while  Penrices  were 
ever  rogues  and  poachers.    Eh,  John,  'twas  a  happy 


JACOB'S  LAST  STAKE 


339 


day  for  me  when  the  excellent  Sir  Thomas  gave  you 
friendship." 

"  You  Lave  a  pretty  trick  of  pleading,"  said  Cherry. 

"  I  do  not  plead,  young  sir ;  I  state  my  case.  Truth 
may  demand  a  statement,  but  does  not  need  a  lawyer." 

"  Then  why  do  you  visit  us  ?  " 

"  As  a  friend  and  neighbour  ;  nay  more,  as  a  bene- 
factor. I  grow  old ;  I  desire  to  settle  my  affairs. 
Young  gentleman,  are  you  not  the  heir  of  the 
Clabars  ?  " 

"  What  if  I  am  ?  " 

"  I  would  see  you  run  the  plough  across  the  fields  of 
Coinagehall.  A  poor  house  and  l^rren  property.  Yet 
I  would  make  you  master." 

"  This  is  generous.  Why  should  you  favour  me,  and 
neglect  your  adopted  daughter  ?  And  why  do  you 
forget  John  Clabar  ?  " 

"  That  you  have  a  right  to  know.  I  have  a  tale  for 
your  ear,  but  I  would  not  speak  it  here.  Will  it  please 
you  to  accompany  me.  Master  Peter  ?  Will  you  come 
with  me  now  to  your  future  home,  and  permit  me  to 
show  you  the  entire  property  ?  Nay,  if  you  so  desire, 
I  will  seal  you  a  deed  of  gift  before  the  sun  goes  down." 

"  I  go  with  you,"  said  Cherry,  making  a  certain  sign 
which  Clabar  understood  ;  but  not  a  movement  escaped 
the  eye  of  Jacob. 

"  John  shall  certainly  accompany  us.  Our  deed 
of  business  calls  for  his  honest  presence,"  he  said 
glibly. 

"  I  remain  here,"  said  Clabar.  Then  his  anger  broke 
loose,  and  he  struck  the  desk  before  him  as  he  cried, 
"  I  have  sworn  not  to  enter  my  father's  house  while 
you  remain  its  master." 

"  For  shame,  John  !  You  have  forgot  your  manners 
— and  have  spilt  your  ink,"  said  Jacob. 

Clabar  watched  them  out  of  sight,  then  left  the 
cottage  to  run  at  headlong  speed  through  the  wood, 
and  so  to  Bezurrel.    While  Jacob  and  Cherry  arrived 


340 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


n 


presently  at  Coinagehall,  to  discover  a  great  silence  ; 
for  nobody  was  to  be  seen  in  the  garden,  where  imple- 
ments lay  as  they  had  been  dropped,  and  the  door  of 
an  empty  house  stood  open. 

"  Have  you  not  a  great  number  of  servants  ?  " 
inquired  Cherry. 

"  Rascals  who  cheated  me.  I  have  dismissed  them 
all,"  replied  Jacob.  Yet  the  trick  of  the  voice  could 
not  conceal  a  troubled  mind  ;  for  when  he  had  left  the 
house  a  few  servants  had  remained ;  and  now  these 
also  had  abandoned  him. 

"  Answer  me  plainly,"  said  Cherry,  as  they  entered, 
"  Is  it  not  true  that  you  wish  to  dispose  of  this  property 
because  it  is  haunted  ?  " 

"  It  is  indeed  haunted,"  replied  Jacob  with  a  laugh. 
"  You  shall  see  footprints  form  in  the  dust,  and 
wounded  faces  pressed  against  the  windows.  You 
shall  hear  groans  and  tramplings  all  the  night.  But  he 
is  a  poor  creature  who  fears  a  spirit.  There  is  one  Red 
Cap — a  pleasant  knave — ^who  haunts  the  house  perpet- 
ually. I  am  grown  so  accustomed  to  the  rogue  and  his 
impish  tricks  that  I  would  not  willingly  be  without 
him.  This  fellow  was  once  a  Clabar,  and  you  must 
know,  yotmg  gentleman,  that  to  be  a  Clabar  is  to  be  a 
rascal." 

"  Is  not  that  a  strange  admission  ?  " 

"  I  hate  the  Clabars,"  cried  Jacob,  pressing  both 
hands  against  his  chest  as  if  he  would  have  forced  down 
his  nature. 

"  Why  have  you  locked  the  door  ?  " 

"  I  would  have  privacy.  I  will  have  no  interference, 
whether  of  man  or  spirit.   Do  you  fear  me,  young  sir  ?  " 

"  With  one  arm  fastened  I  could  whip  you  round 
this  house.    Do  you  not  rather  fear  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  cause  to  fear  you,  my  fine  young  gentle- 
man." 

"  We  stand  alone  in  this  house.  There  is  nobody 
within  sight  or  hearing.  I  had  sworn  before  coming  to 


JACOB'S  LAST  STAKE 


341 


Moyle  that  I  would  beat  you  soundly  for  having 
snatched  this  property  from  my  father." 

"  Instead  of  which  you  shall  learn  to  love  me.  I 
bring  you  here  to  claim  you — to  call  you  my  own 
Robin." 

"  Robin  I  "  she  exclaimed  ;  then  murmured  to  her- 
self, "  The  title  fits  his  business." 

"  You  wonder  why  I  dispose  of  my  property  to  you. 
Now  you  shall  perceive  the  deed  is  natural.  You  may 
reproach  me  for  having  delayed  so  long  to  claim  you  ; 
but  you  shall  know  the  motive.  Young  gentleman,  I 
am  your  father." 

Cherry  walked  towards  the  window,  that  she  might 
hide  her  face.  "  Proofs  I  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Not 
words." 

"  Proofs  you  shall  have,  my  son.  But  first  let  me 
say  why  I  was  forced  to  leave  you  to  the  care  of  that 
whining  John  Clabar,  and  at  the  mercy  of  the  foul 
wizard.  Sir  Thomas  Just.  Old  Clabar  would  sneer  at 
my  father ;  and  has  cuffed  me  on  the  head  many  a 
time  when  I  was  young.  I  obtained  possession  of  this 
property  by  a  trick,  if  you  like.  I  settled  with  the 
father.  I  paid  the  son ;  and  by  another  trick  I  got 
possession  of  his  daughter,  and  I  made  her  serve  me  as 
a  kitchen  wench." 

"  So  you  confess  to  me  of  your  own  free  will  that 
Ruth  is  Cherry  Clabar." 

"  While  you  are  Robin  Grambla." 

"  And  you  are  Grambla  robbing  me  of  name.  Do 
you  desire  me  to  call  you  father  ?  I  know  a  better 
tale  than  that,"  she  cried  with  so  much  loathing  that 
Jacob  stood  dismayed. 

"  You  are  r.yy  fcon  indeed.  And  we  shall  fight  our 
enemies  togeiMer,"  he  muttered. 

"  John  Clabizr,  -;iy  kind  guardian,  and  Sir  Thomas 
Just,  my  more  than  friend." 

"  He  will  be  your  bitterest  foe  when  he  learns  who 
is  your  father." 


34a  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

"  Still  no  proofs ;  but  methinks  much  perjury,"  she 

said  disdainfully.  .  .        ...  x        j 

"  Do  not  vex  me,  Robin.  I  have  the  proofs,  and 
presently  shall  show  them.  Here  we  will  live  together. 
You  shall  be  master,  and  I  the  servant."  ^^ 

"  And  build  upon  the  ruins  of  your  fortune  1 
••  Son,  there  is  something  left.  This  morning  I  had 
letters  upon  business— a  property  to  sell,  a  sum  to 
mvest.  I  believe,  Robin,  you  could  win  a  purse  at  the 
wrestling.  And  there  is  money  to  be  got  by  this  new 
religion.  Together  we  shall  make  a  pretty  fortune. 
But  Mother  Gothal  must  be  silenced  first.    And  now 

for  proofs."  . ,    ..  ,     ^  ^      ui 

"  They  are  not  needed,"  she  said.  Jacob  Grambla, 
you  have  made  your  last  throw,  and  fortune— as  a 
diamond  necklace— now  defeats  you."    ,  ^^  ^     ,  ^. . 

"  What  mean  you,  Robin  ?  May  I  fall  dead  this 
instant  if  you  are  not  my  son." 

"  You  are  reprieved  for  a  different  fate.  Do  you  not 
hear  the  knocking  dn  the  door  ?  "  ,  „  ^  ^     ,  „ 

"  No  mortal  knocks.    Tis  the  cursed  Red  Cap  I 
shouted  Jacob.   "  Stay.  Robin  I    In  pity  sWeld  me  ! 

She  had  left  the  room,  and  now  unlocked  the  door. 
A  moment  later  she  returned  with  Sir  Thomas ;  and, 
standkig  between  her  protector  and  the  meagre 
Grambla,  said  triumphantly,  "  My  dearest  fnend  and 
my  bitterest  enemy  meet  at  last." 


CHAPTER  VIII 


JACOB  ARGUES  FOR  THE  LAST  TIME 

There  was  no  man  in  Moyle  parish  quite  so  small  as 
Jacob  Grambla ;  many  a  wench  was  taller,  many  a 
boy  bigger.  He  looked  then  like  the  dry  and  shrunken 
bean-pod  hanging  by  a  single  stalk  of  life,  the  last  of  its 
kind,  with  winter  coming  on.  Thb  pigmy  stood  and 
trembled  exceedingly,  knowing  that  all  the  forms  of 
enchantment  were  likely  to  be  brought  against  him. 
He  shifted  so  that  a  mirror  opposite  should  not  reflect 
his  shriveUed  misery.   Then  he  took  snuff,  and  spoke  : 

"  Coinagehall  is  honoured  the  second  time  by  an 
uninvited  guest.  Jester  and  ghost  one  day ;  priest 
and  magician  another.  A  pretty  masquerade  in 
truth  I  I  have  no  names  for  such  great  gentlemen, 
and  I  may  be  pardoned  if  I  profess  no  friendship.  I 
do  not  go  to  Bezurrel,  yet  Sir  Thomas  Just  must  come 
to  Coinagehall.  I  know  not,  sir,  by  what  right  you 
trespass  upon  my  private  life." 

"  Let  us  not  get  talking  about  rights,"  said  Sir 
Thomas.  "  Were  I  to  call  the  people  of  Moyle  and  to 
say,  '  Do  justice  to  this  man,'  I  might  be  led  to  pity 
you." 

"  What  brings  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  come  to  force  truth  out  of  the  mouth  of  a  liar." 

"  He  has  just  declared.  Sir  Thomas,  that  I  am  his 
son,"  said  Cherry. 

"  Truth  in  that  form  can  hardly  be  a  lie  ;  for  such 
a  statement  could  deceive  no  man,"  replied  Sir  Thomas. 

"  I  am  to  prove  my  words,"  said  Jacob.  "  Sir, 
th»ie  is  a  law  which  forbids  the  interference  of  a 

343 


344 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


stranger  between  father  and  son.  This  young  gentle- 
man te  mine.  He  is.  as  you  are  well  aware,  no  relation 
of  the  sour  John  Clabar.  You  have  no  need  to  scan 
the  sters,  nor  to  search  your  books,  to  know  this  hand- 
some fcUow  could  not  be  the  son  of  dark  and  brooding 
Clabar;  and  of  a  lady  who,  for  all  her  Cornish 
parentage,  was  of  Spanish  blood ;  being  descended 
from  one  of  the  shipwrecked  sailors  of  the  great 

Armada." 

"  '  pray  you  do  not  look  at  your  own  reflection  in 
the  mSror,    said  Sir  Thomas. 

"  Your  insults,  sir,  proceed  from  greater  strength. 
My  lady  was  beautiful  mdeed— she  had  golden  hair. 
Yet  I  grieve  to  add  no  marriage  ceremony  took  place 
between  us.  Therefore  this  young  gentleman  is  not 
legitimate.  Sir,  if  I  wished  to  lie.  how  easy  it  would 
be  to  declare  I  had  been  married." 

'*  Why,  a  most  ingenious  gentleman  1 "  Sir  Thomas 
muttered. 

"  This  my  son,  R»bin,  was  bom  in  the  parish  and 
town  of  St.  Germans,  where  as  a  young  man  I  had 
some  business,"  Jacob  continued.  "  I  waste  no  breath 
in  telling  of  my  love,  my  courtship.  Death,  sir, 
prevented  a  more  legal  union.  At  an  early  age,  and 
oppressed  by  poverty,  I  found  myself  the  father  of  a 
son,  whom  I  dared  not  own  in  this  church-town  of 
Moyle.  For  jiys  I  fought  against  paternal  tender- 
ness ;  and  at  last,  defeated  by  the  longings  of  my  soul, 
I  set  out  for  St.  Germans,  and  returned  with  boldness 
and  my  babe.  I  reached  this  parish  during  the  great 
storm  which  the  old  and  middle-aged  still  tell  of. 
Hearing  signals  of  distress  at  sea,  and  shouts  of 
wreckers  on  the  cliffs,  I  tied  my  horse,  and  descended 
to  the  shore,  bearing  the  child  Robin  tenderly  in  my 
arms.  I  stood  there  alone,  and  presently  a  lady  was 
washed  up  near  my  feet.  Sir,  that  instant  I  perceived 
how  I  might  save  my  reputation  and  secure  sympathy 
for  my  darling  Robin.    Finding  the  lady  was  dead,  I 


JACOB  ARGUES  FOR  THE  LAST  TIME     345 

drenched  the  clothes  of  my  child,  then  ascended  the 
cliffs,  canyliit;  my  son  whom  I  was  to  present  to  the 
people  as  a  cnild  I  had  rescued  from  the  sea.  Thus, 
sir,  the  story  came  about." 

"  How  is  it  your  son  came  to  be  Peter  Clabar ; 
while  the  maiden  Ruth  was  known  as  your  adopted 
daughter  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  plain  with  you.  I  shall  now  tell  of  my 
deed  of  vengeance,"  replied  Jacob.  "  The  half  of  the 
cruelty  of  these  Clabars  to  my  family  will  never  be 
made  known.  Let  that  pass  now ;  I  mention  it  to 
justify  my  action.  John  Clabar  himself  had  done  me 
no  ill — ^he  had  the  will,  but  not  the  power— yet  God 
in  heaven  knows  how  his  father  oppressed  my  parents. 
Sir,  I  could  produce  you  letters  in  proof  of  this.  John 
Clabar's  wife  had  lately  died,  alter  bearing  hun  a 
child,  which  Mother  Gothal  had  the  care  of.  I  went 
to  her  cottage,  having  then  the  idea  of  bidding  her 
take  charge  of  my  little  Robin  also ;  but  when  I 
arrived  she  had  gone  out  upon  the  cliff  to  join  the 
wreckers,  and  had  left  a  little  maid  to  watch  the 
child.  I  sent  her  out  and,  to  be  brief,  sir,  in  my  story, 
I  dressed  my  Robin  in  the  clothes  of  Cherry,  left  him 
in  the  cot,  and  carried  to  Coinagehall  John  Clabar's 
infant  daughter." 

"  This  portion  of  youf  story  is  true  indeed  ;  but  I 
knew  it  akeady." 

"  For  Mother  Gothal  told  you.  I  would  remind 
you,  sir,  that  old  baggage  lies  to  every  man." 

"  I  discovered  it  myself.  I  do  not  ask  your  motive 
in  neglecting  yoiu-  son  and  wrecking  your  vengeance 
on  the  Claims.  Nor  do  I  require  you  to  show  me 
proofs ;  for  I  am  very  well  aware  this  yoimg  gentle- 
man, as  you  are  pleased  to  caU  him,  is  no  more  related 
to  you  than  he  is  to  the  house  of  Clabar." 

"  You  speak  easily,  sir ;  but  you  cannot  kill  my 
claim  by  talking." 

"  Why  do  you  now  require  his  services  ?  " 


346 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


« 


The  aflectioM  of  a  father,  sir " 

"  Pray  do  not  speak  of  the  affections.  You  reqmre 
him  because  he  is  strong ;  and  you  ^lieve,  by  this 
foolish  story,  you  may  win  his  help.  B^*  J?^*^»  "J 
you  know  I  love  him.  So  you  woidd  turn  hmi  agamst 
me.  you  would  force  me  to  despise  Wm.  or  you  dream 
by  this  trick  to  win  my  support  and  thus  strengthen 
your  hold  upon  this  property." 

"  You  declare  Robin  is  not  my  son.  Ride  with  me 
to  St.  Germans,  and  I  shall  there  produce  evidence  of 

his  birth."  _       ... 

••  I  am  not  mclined  to  fail  into  a  trap.  Travelbng  in 
your  company  might  lead  to  accidents  upon  alonely 
Joad.  Ncwkt  me  burst  this  bubble."  said  Sir Jhomas 
sharply  ;  then,  taking  the  young  lady  by  the  hand  he 
led  her  forward  and  ccmtmued.  My  child.  I  shall 
ask  you  a  few  questions  in  this  ror^m  s  hearing-  vo 
you  own  this  Grambla  as  your  father  ?  " 

"  By  heaven.  I  do  not,'  sho  answered.^ 

"  What  was  the  platce  of  vour  birth  ?  " 

"  The  Colony  of  Virginia. " 

"  Are  you  maid  or  man  ?  "  ^^ 

"  A  thousand  times  a  maid." 

"  What  is  your  Christian  name  ?  " 

"  Elizabeth."  ^  ,      , 

"  What  madness  is  this  ?  "  shouted  Jacob. 

"  The  madness  of  the  truth."  replied  Su-  Thomas. 

"  A  foul  trick.   Here  is  more  enchantment.   Are  3/ - 

indeed  a  maid  ?  "  .♦«*^iv 

"  You  have  heard  me  say  so."  answered  the  stetel> 

young  Elizabeth.  , 

"  Lay  down  your  weapons,  Grambla,  and  pray  lor 

pardon."  ,        x*  • 

^^  Sir  I  have  no  desire  to  seek  your  pardon,  it  is 
true  I  have  fdlen  into  error— such  as  a  man  will  make. 
I  have  not  disclosed  the  whole  of  the  truth  ;  for  a  man 

may  tell  his  story  in  the  way  that  smts  him.  This 
yoimg  lady  is  indeed  not  related  to  me.  that  is  to  say, 


JACOB  ARGUES  FOR  THE  LAST  TIME     347 

she  b  not  my  flesh  and  blood.  Yet  I  shall  claim  her 
as  my  daughter,  and  I  know  well  the  law  of  this  land 
must  uphold  my  claim  against  even  a  baronet— a  most 
religious  Catholic  gentleman,  who  has  smuggled  into 
this  Protestant  country  a  Jesuit  priest  which,  sir,  is 
against  the  law." 

"  I  perceive  you  have  more  than  one  arrow  in  your 
quiver,"  said  Sir  Thomas. 

"Ay,  sir,  and  here  I  have  a  sharp  one  which  shall 
riddle  you.  Seek  your  pardon — a  pretty  notion !  I 
will  have  you  beg  mine  before  you  go.  I  repeat,  sir, 
I  would  have  strengthened  my  case  by  a  different 
arrangerrnnt  of  the  facts.  The  former  story  carried 
more  weight;  yet  the  plain  truth  is  hardly  of  less 
consequence.  I  may  even  appear  before  you  in  a 
more  honourable  light  when  I  declare  I  have  not 
known  a  father's  transports.  Let  us  have  done  with 
quibbles.  To  Moyle  I  published  the  true  story.  I 
saved  the  life  of  this  young  lady  as  a  child  ;  I  snatched 
her  from  the  ocean,  and  closed  her  hapless  mother's 
eyes  in  death." 

"  Then  robbed  her  body." 

"  You  lie,  sir.  I  used  the  dead  with  every  possible 
act  of  reverence." 

"  Yet  you  failed  to  discover  the  necklace." 

"  You  are  playing  with  me,  sir.  Will  you  not  find 
virtue  and  kmdness  in  any  man  who  is  your  enemy  ? 
iih,  sir,  you  are  bitter  in  your  disappointment.  You 
perceive  I  make  good  my  claim.  You  have  showered 
your  favours — I  know  not  for  what  purpose — upon 
this  young  lady  who  is,  I  believe,  of  mean  birth  ;  and 
now  you  are  unable  to  restrain  your  grief  at  discover- 
ing her  daughter  of  poor  Jacob  Grambla,  and  mistress, 
not  of  your^,  but  of  so  mean  a  home  as  Coinagehall." 

"Your  claim.    What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  she  is  mine  by  the  law  of  the  land,  the 
custom  of  the  country,  and  tradition  of  the  people. 
I  did  not  know  of  her  sex.    Nor  upon  that  night  of 


348 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


the  exchange  did  I  know  whether  Clabar's  chUd  was 
son  or  daughter.    I  gambled  with  the  chance.    When 
I  discovered  his  babe  was  a  daughter,  I  thought  to 
hear  more  ;  but  the  child  was  sent  away  immediately 
—a  few  hours,  I  believe,  after  I  had  played  my  tnck— 
and  I  then  supposed  my  babe  was  also  a  maid.  When 
Pfeter  Clabar  came  to  Moyle  twenty  years  afterwards, 
I  was  indeed  amazed ;  and  then  I  supposed  my  ex- 
change nad  not  been  discovered,  while  the  people  to 
whom  the  chUd  was  sent  knew  no  better  than  myself. 
Sir,  I  do  not  possess  your  powers  of  divination— and  1 
thank  God  for  it.    I  am  a  plain  man,  duped  by  Mother 
Gothal,  who  I  am  now  well  assured  knew  of  this  young 
lady's  sex.    Sir,  you  may  haunt  me  with  Y©^  e"*^" 
spirits,  yet  I  have  you.    Here  is  my  adopted  daughter. 
Leave  her,  sir,  and  leave  my  house,  and  nee  me  for 
ever  from  your  hateful  presence.    Come,  Sir  Thomas, 
have  the  goodness  to  confess  that  1  have  beat  you. 

"  Your  nimble  wit,  has  run  away  from  reason  and 
left  memory  far  behind,"  replied  Sir  Thomas.  "You 
have  heard  me  question  this  young  lady ;  you  have 
listened  to  her  answers.  Can  a  chUd  a  few  weeks  old 
know  her  name  and  remember  her  birth-place  ?  Ctae 
more  question  I  will  put  to  her.  Child,  your  full  name  ? 

••  Elizabeth  Virginia  Just,"  said  the  young  lady 

"  Now  you  are  answered.  You  saved  this  maiden's 
life :  for  that  I  thank  you ;  for  that  I  might  have  loved 
you  •  ay,  and  for  that  I  am  prepared  even  now  to  help 
you.  Yet  you  saved  her  in  order  that  you  might  gratify 
your  evil  nature  by  forcing  Cherry  Clabar,  the  heiress 
of  this  house,  to  serve  in  your  kitchen  ;  and  how  you 
treated  the  poor  maid  I  know.  You  claim  this  young 
lady  as  your  adopted  daughter.  I  daim  her  as  my 
only  brother's  child."  ,, 

"  Yet  more  enchantment,"  Jacob  muttered.  This 
is  trickery— foul  plotting.  You  put  these  answere  m 
her  mouth.   She  is  a  common  creature— ay,  daughter 


JACOB  ARGUES  FOR  THE  LAST  TIME      349 

ol  a  Jew,  I  wanant.    So  I  gave  Cherry  this  one's 
rightful  name  of  Ruth." 

"  She  is  Elizabeth,  for  the  name  has  become  dear 
in  the  traditions  of  my  family ;  and  Virginia  because 
she  was  bom  in  that  colony.  The  Justs  were  ever 
wanderers ;  and  my  brother,  having  no  taste  for  life 
in  England,  travelled  much  about  the  >vorld.  Coming 
to  Italy  for  my  wedding,  he  fell  in  love  with  a  parti- 
cular friend  of  my  lady ;  and  as  soon  as  could  be 
married  her.  They  travelled  to  America,  and  were 
so  much  attracted  by  the  Colony  of  Virginia  that  they 
decided  to  spend  some  years  among  the  hardy  pioneers. 
A  son  was  given  them,  only  to  be  taken  away.  Then 
came  Elizabeth,  but  the  letter  which  told  me  of  her 
birth  contained  also  the  news  of  her  father's  death. 
His  lady  left  immediately  upon  a  visit  to  my  father  at 
Bezurrel.   The  rest  you  know." 

"  I  have  heard  another  story  marvellously  like 
yours,"  said  Jacob  bitterly.  "  I  believe,  sir,  you  and 
a  certain  vagabond,  who  came  to  this  house  to  declare 
Cherry  was  his  sister,  have  put  your  heads  together. 
Nay,  I  am  certain  that  you  sent  him  here  ;  and  you 
are  his  confederate  in  robbing  me,  and  in  passing 
paper  money  that  is  false." 

"  You  refer  to  a  poor  gentleman  whom  I  now  protect. 
If  he  robbed  you,  I  am  sorry  for  it,"  said  Sir  Thomas 
coldly.  "  I  did  not  know  of  this  man  until  he  came 
to  this  house  and  fell  in  love  with  Cherry  ;  and  even 
then  I  had  no  speech  with  him.  By  her  wilful  action 
in  ruiming  with  him  I  was  to  learn  the  truth.  Had 
you  treated  the  poor  child  as  a  daughter,  had  you  not 
driven  her  from  this  house,  I  might  never  have  dis- 
covered my  young  lady's  name  and  parentage — so  I 
should  have  mourned  for  ever  the  death  of  my  only 
niece." 

"  These  are  words,  sir,  wild  words  ;  and,  I  believe, 
wicked  words." 

"  Then  listen  again.   When  my  dear  brother  married. 


350  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

my  lady  and  I  presented  to  his  wife  the  most  costly 
diamond  necklace  that  our  fortunes  could  procmre ; 
a  neddace  so  splendid  as  to  become  the  talk  of  the 
whole  city  of  Florence.  This  necklace  was  worn  by 
mv  larfortunate  sister-m-law  when  she  \m  vfashed 
Khore.  You  did  not  discover  it,  but  Mother  Gothal 
removed  it  from  the  body,  and  after  many  years  ^ve 
it  to  Cherry,  who  sent  it  to  my  lady,  upon  the  day 
she  ran  with  her  lover,  by  the  hand  of  our  dear  luece. 
At  a  glance  we  recogn^  it :  nor  could  we  have 
failed  to  do  so,  for  the  crest  of  the  Justs  is  cunnmgly 
stamped  upon  each  link.    Are  you  answered  ? 

"  I  am  content,"  said  the  meagre  attorney,  rubbmg 
his  dry  hands  together  liowly.  "  I  believe  I  must  for- 
go my  claim,  for  I  perceive  you  carry  facts  too  weighty. 
Sir,  may  I  ask  you  to  withdraw  ?  I  wish  this  young 
lady  every  happiness.  I  am  engaged,  sir,  for  a  prayer- 
meeting  at  Master  Honey's.  So  I  lost  the  necldace ! 
I  had  a  fortune  beneath  my  hands,  and  could  not  tmd 
it.  I  saved  this  young  lady  for  your  happiness.  I  have 
played  into  your  hands  at  every  move.  Well.  God  be 
praised  for  it.  I  have  done  good  ;  have  saved  1^  and 
made  folk  happy.  I  thank  God  for  it.  Permit  me. 
sir,  to  attend  you  to  the  door."  ___. 

"  Stay.  Grambla,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  stepping  towaaMte 
the  shrivelled  manikin.  "  It  is  my  purpose  to  reward 
you— upon  conditions— for  you  have  unwittmgly  done 
a  great  service  to  my  house.  Ay,  though  you  worked 
with  ill-intent,  you  have  yet  done  good.  I  shall  present 
you  with  five  thousand  pounds;  whUe  you  slMll 
agree,  upon  receiving  that  sum,  to  restore  tlcas 
property  to  John  Clabar.  then  to  leave  Moyie.  never 
to  revisit  the  western  side  of  Tamar." 

"  Five  thousand  pounds— I  came  into  that  sum 
before."  said  Jacob  harshly.  "  A  year  of  life,  of  fine 
furniture  and  servants  and  routs— a  year  of  1^ 
friendship.  Nothing  more.  Again  I  am  content.  Sir, 
I  bow  before  you,  I  thank  you  for  your  kmdness. 


JACOB  ARGUES  FOR  THE  LAST  TIME     351 

But,  sir,  will  you  not  rather  withdraw  your  enchant- 
ments from  me,  and  command  your  spirits  to  cease 
from  troubling  me  ?  Can  you  not  see  misery  upon  my 
face — misery  too  great  for  one  small  man  to  bear  ? 
I  have  done  evil,  sir.  'Tis  true  I  have  cheated  and 
robbed,  but  I  have  done  no  murder ;  I  have  led  no 
wench  astray,  for  all  my  talk  ;  I  have  been  exact  in 
my  reUgious  duties.  Sir,  I  am  poor  now,  and  cnehed, 
my  friends  are  gone  from  me  ;  and  the  years  go  with 
me  downwards,  sir,  downwards.  I  can  face  men,  not 
spirits.  I  have  a  great  weakness,  a  great  terror,  for 
these  figures  and  fancies.  Sir,  I  grow  strange  in  my 
mind  when  I  behold  this  apparition.  I  take  a  knife, 
yet  fear  to  use  it.  Lack  of  reason  may  remove  this 
terror  ;  and,  sir,  you  may  not  wish  in  time  to  come  to 
have  even  my  death  upon  your  soul." 

"  Enough,  Grambla  !  You  are  free  from  this  hour," 
said  Sir  Thomas  in  a  pitying  voice  ;  while  Elizabeth, 
who  had  done  with  the  masculine  sex  and  name  of 
Cherry,  was  astonished  to  discover  a  haze  upon  her 
eyes. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ONLY  JOHN  CLABAR  IS  UNHAPPY 

"  Farewell  to  the  woods  1  Farewell  to  John  Clabar ! 
But  not  farewell  to  Halcyon  !  "  sighed  the  young  lady. 
"  I  gam  the  whole  world,  yet  lose  a  devoted  father. 
When  did  you  first  suspect,  dear  uncle,  I  was  no 

Clabar  ?  "  .    j      •  j 

"  When  I  set  eyes  upon  you.  Golden-haired  maidcM 
are  not  bom  to  the  swarthy.  Damsels  of  leammg  wid 
keen  wit  do  not  spring  from  yeoman  stock.  Neither 
do  infants  in  their  cradles  alter  the  colour  of  their  eyes  1 
And  more,  your  face  and  figure,  your  reUgion,  yom: 
fine  spirit  of  freedom,  the  very  canlage  of  your  head, 
reminded  me  of  my  dear  brother.  Now  you  under- 
stand why  I  have  always  loved  and  protected  you ; 
and  why  I  desire  you  for  my  elder  son." 

••  Poor  Cherry-Ruth !   How  she  will  gneve  to  lose 

her  diamonds  1 "  .„      .       .    x     *u  „ 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  she  will  rest  content  with  a 

father,  home,  and  husband." 

"  If  they  do  not  satisfy  her,  with  liberty  also  to  pray 
in  her  own  queer  fashion,  I  shall  call  her  peevish.  Here 
comes  David  1     Will  he  stoop  to  kiss  his  cousms 

hand  ? "  , .        .^,   .,      .  ,  . 

"  Ah,  child !    I  would  have  seen  him  with  the  ngnt 

to  kiss  your  lips."  .     u 

"  David  and  I  are  warm  friends ;   but  we  should 

have  made  cold  lovers.    Let  this  soreness  heal.^^  Dear 

uncle,  you  must  take  me,  naughtiness  and  all. 
The  elder  son  approached  along  the  avenue,  leading 

a  horse  ;  and  was  now  almost  up  with  them. 

35a 


ONLY  JOHN  CLABAR  IS  UNHAPPY       353 

"  I  shall  inform  David  this  evening  you  are  his 
cousin— not  now,  Betty,"  said  Sir  Thomas. 

"  Ho,  Peter  I  "  cried  the  young  man  pleasantly. 

"  My  name  is  not  Pfeter,  young  gentleman." 

"  Ho,  Mistress  Cherry  !  "  cried  he. 

"  Neither  is  that  my  name." 

"  Then  I  am  done." 

"  What,  an't  you  got  my  name  yet  ?  "  she  asked, 
laughing.  "  You  know  the  old  folk-tale,  my  young 
gentleman  ?  " 

"  I  was  brought  up  on  it,"  he  said.  Then,  bowing 
and  pointing  at  her,  he  sang,  "  Nimmy,  nimmy,  not, 
your  name  is  Tom-Tit-Tot." 

"  Now  I  should  scream,  and  fly  away,  and  be  seen 
no  more.    But  I'll  stay  to  plague  you." 

"  Where  are  you  going,  David  ?  "  asked  his  father. 

"  Ten  miles  along  the  high  road,  sir.  I  have  made 
a  calculation  which  tells  me  my  brother  should  reach 
the  other  side  of  the  downs  in  two  hours'  time.  His 
horses  are  makinjg  the  dust  fly,  I  warrant." 

"What  is  this?"  Elizabeth  murmured,  with  a 
decided  change  of  countenance. 

"  There  was  a  quarrel  between  us  when  we  parted," 
David  continued.  "  I  have  a  debt  of  honour  to  dis- 
charge ;  so,  with  your  consent,  sir,  I  shall  meet  the 
rogue  in  a  lonely  place,  and  maybe  pull  his  ears." 

"  If  you  do  so,  I  shall  never  speak  with  you  again," 
cried  the  young  lady. 

"  Ho,  ho,  Mre.  Tom-Tit-Tot !  Now  we  know  which 
way  the  wind  blows.  I  shall  beat  Martin— ay,  soundly, 
I  promise  you.  I  shall  bruise  him  from  head  to  foot. 
And  then  I  shall  force  him  to  his  knees  and  compel 
him  to  kiss  my  boots." 

"  Sir  Thomas,  you  cannot  permit  this  !  " 

"Go,  David,  and  whip  the  young  rascal, 
a   little  of  your  rough   handling  will   do 
harm." 

"  If  he  does  so  .  .  ."  began  Elizabeth. 

3A 


I  believe 
him   no 


*^   I 


354 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  Young  lady,  what  is  this  to  do  with  you  ?  "  asked 

^""^Oi  nothing  whatever.  I  assure  you    Yet  it  must 
hp  hateful  to  me  to  see  two  brothers  fighting. 
^"  You  wm  not  see  it ;  for  I  shall  beat  hun  u^n  a 
lonely  road.^^  I  would  not  trust  you  to  hold  the  sponge. 

^"S^vidipntng  upon  the  horse  and  rode  away  ;  while 
the  others  went  on  towards  the  c^tle.  ^^ 

"  Uncle,  you  have  sent  for  Martm  l 

"  It  was  your  wish,  child." 

"  I  did  not  express  it."  , 

••  D^r  chUd.  you  write,  you  sigh,  you  look ;  then 
declare  you  do  not  speak."  .     ,, 

"  But  David  and  Martm  are  enemies. 

"  ?Sey^  brothers  first.  Let  them  setUe  heir 
difieJS.  Betty,  my  child.  David^  the  man  c^J^e 
two  He  has  more  roughness  than  Martm.  but  twice 
the  heart  Come  I  my  lady  is  waiting  to  embrace  you 
and  to  find  you  a  gown  for  this  evening's  wear ;  for 
a?ter  toSty  you  are  to  resign  yourself  to  the  unpn^n- 
ment  of  sldrts.  with  all  the  vanities  they  imply.  Now 
?:^Ld for  John Clabar.  He  must  to  wi^hus tbs 
afternoon,  hear  himself  depnved  of  Goldilocks,  ana 

his  hSdlong  fashion  across  the  upland.    Reachmg  a 
riace^here  four  roads  met.  some  ten  mdes  out  of 

Lyle-a  lonely  spot  ^th  a  gf  S^^i^J^^3j;7Z^ 
leapt  from  his  horse,  and  Pennitted  the  animal  to  g^ 
while  he  watched  the  eastward  road.   His  time  of  wait 
hiT^^as  Thort.  for  a  cloud  of  dust  whirled  across  the 
Knd.  and  presently  a  post-chaise  dashed  towards 

*^''  Srother."  said  David.  "  you  have  fed  your  ^ot^s 
upon  something  more  substantial  than  wmd.  though 
it  makes  them  go  as  fast."  n^,^j  » 

"  I  did  not  look  to  find  you  here.  David. 


ONLY  JOHN  CLABAR  IS  UNHAPPY       355 

"  There  is  a  matter  to  be  settled  between  us.  Better 
here  than  at  home.  Come  with  me  a  few  steps  alone 
this  road."  ^      ^ 

They  walked  side  by  side  in  perfect  silence  round 
the  bend,  and  stopped  in  a  lonely  place  where  the  hill« 
of  the  moorland  rose  upon  either  side. 

"  Here  is  a  fine  turf,"  said  David.  "  A  clear  sky 
above,  no  shadow  of  tree,  not  a  human  being  as  wit- 
ness. Brother,  you  did  your  best  to  rouse  the  devil 
in  me.    You  insulted  me.    You  would  have  killed  me, 

"Under  the  same  circumstances  I  should  insult  you 
again,"  said  Martin  sullenly.  "  Do  you  require  satis- 
faction, David  ? "  ^         H 

"Ay,  brother,  I  must  have  satisfaction.  TeU  me 
now,  do  you  know  why  my  father  sends  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  He  ordered  me  to  return  at 
once." 

"  Well,  brother,  we  are  to  fight  for  a  young  lady. 
But  did  you  never  ask  yourself  whether  I  loved  her, 
or  she  loved  me  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  love  her.  I  know  she  had  little 
affection  for  me— that  knowledge  inade  me  mad." 

"  What  affection  could  you  look  for,  brother,  after 
you  had  knocked  her  senseless  ?  " 

"  She  showed  me  more  harshness  than  I  deserved," 
Martm  contmued.  "Then  my  father  forbade  me  to 
speak  with  her ;  and  told  me  he  desired  you  to  marry 
her.  As  if  that  was  not  sufficient,  you  must  play  the 
lord  and  use  me  like  a  hind." 

''  Nay,  brother,  when  did  I  do  so  ?  " 

"  When  we  met  in  Bezurrel  Woods,  and  you  told  me 
I  was  out  of  bounds." 

"I  was  but  obeying  my  father.  Come,  brother,  let 
me  inform  you  the  young  lady  has  far  more  affection 
for  you  than  for  myself.  She  has  some  character  to 
prefer  a  younger  son,  and  miss  a  title." 

"  Vou  bring  me  here  to  take  your  vengeance,"  cried 


356  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

Morfin  throwine  his  hat  upon  the  turf.    "  You  taunt 

m'  -nSryottr  doing,  David,    You  forged  my 
LhM's  hiid ;  you  issued  the  order  in  lus  name.  WeU, 

■""^t  !S;To»  -ord.  brother/- said  David  quieUy. 

"  You  ha4  said  too  much.  Protect  yourself  I  By 
heaven  I  shall  do  my  best  to  lull  you. 

"Tothid  to  the'^last.  Listen,  brother  I  I  wou^d 
not  taunt  vou,  for  I  know  you  cannot  bear  it.  My 
fa(*M  tos  int  for  you  indeed  :  and  I  am  come  to  wel- 
«me  y^hlme  o«er  you  my  hand,  and  w^h  you  joy 

SdCk,  brother,  for  I  »■",!» 'fXt'^^aS«"to^» 
♦i,a«  xmiir«plf— ^we  have  settled  that  matter  m  oui 
ft^dir^"sts     I^  not  to  marry  the  young  »dy 

wtor^rhave  known.-s  Jol"  J^l^^lutlf^^ 
"  David,"  cried  Martm  hoarsely.       Will  you  swear 

^^'^'rri>t%tlir-V man-least  of^ 
tempestuous  brother-upon  such  a  matter  as  this. 
ChX  likes  me  weU  enough,  and  for  my  part  I  am 
devoid  to  her ;    but  we  are  both  agreed  that  our 
h^HomZimn  well  in  harness.   I  am  not  le^ed 
S^?!;^h  f  or  mv  ladv  '   while  she  has  too  much  literature 
for  me     sKfor 'G^eek  and  Latin,  while  I  am  for 
hJrs^  and  dog     I  have  also  no  desire  to  find  myself 
^ted  to  a  Udy  who  is  well  able  to  throw  rr.e  m  a  thorn- 
Stho^3dILpleaseher.  .fve-e  .^f^^^^^^ 
and  shrinking  miss,  who  wntes  a  Pretty  letter  ol  m 
soelt  words,  and  sighs  out  her  heart  upon  a  moral 
t£  ;  Choi  weakness  it  would  be  my  pleasure  to 
protect."  , 

"  What  does  my  father  say  i*       ,    ^    ,  „  ,  «  rh\n  • 
"  Little  enough'    He  frowns  and  ?*^^,?P^  ^^^f 
while  our  voung  Mrs.  Mystery  uses  him  hke  a  figure  oi 
w^  a^d  S^him  into  wh/tever  shape  may  suit  her 


ONLY  JOHN  CLABAR  IS  UNHAPPY       357 

fancy.  She  has  t'\tn  a  liking  for  you,  brother,  and 
has  pressed  my  father  to  bring  you  home  ;  and  that's 
the  Aid  of  it." 

"  But,  brother,"  said  Martin  shamefacedly,  while  he 
bent  to  regain  his  hat.  "  Why  did  you  not  speak  be- 
fore ?  Why,  when  I  insulted  you,  would  you  not  con- 
fess you  were  not  in  love  with  Cherry  ?  " 

"  That's  a  sunple  question,  brother,"  replied  David. 
"  I  was  prepared  to  obey  my  father — who  was  uncom- 
monly set  upon  this  marriage— if  I  discovered  the 
young  lady  was  also  willing,  as  indeed  she  then  appeared 
to  be.  When  you  came  like  a  roaring  lion  into  my 
preserve,  I  had  to  check  you  ;  for  I  could  not  permit 
you  to  play  the  elder  son  and  encroach  upon  m 
privileges  ;  nor  could  I  have  avoided  fighting  with  you 
had  not  my  father  interfered.  Yet,  brother,  I  would 
rather  appear  to  play  the  coward  than  shed  your 

blood." 

"  You  ride  out  here  to  speak  so  kindly,  to  offer  me 
your  hand,  to  bring  me  happiness !  Is  this,  brother, 
your  revenge  ?  " 

"  Nay,  brother,  I  thmk  you  must  give  me  some 

satisfaction . ' ' 

"  I  am  sorry  I  insulted  the  best  brother  in  the  world. 
Your  nature  is  far  nobler  than  mine." 

"  I  believe  we  possess  the  same  nature  ;  but  I  have 
the  trick  of  controlling  mine,  while  you  are  apt  to  let 
yours  run." 

"  Humiliate  me,  brother,"  begged  Martin  m  a  low 


cried  David. 


voice. 

"By  heaven,  I'll  not  shame  you,' 

QoC  knows  a  brother  is  the  best  friend  a  man  can 
Lave.  Still  you  insulted  me.  the  heir  of  the  house,  and 
tkat  matter  must  be  settled.    Put  up  your  hands  1  " 

MiiTtin  did  so  with  eagerness  ;  while  David  stepped 
forwar*!  a-l  struck  his  brother  lightly  on  the  breast. 

"  1  ani ;  hiisfied,"  he  said.  "  Now,  brother,  I'll  race 
your  horse*  io  BezMiTel." 


35« 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


Dinner  wm  put  back  that  evening  to  await  the 
brothen.  When  the  chaise  drew  up,  Sir  Thomas  and 
his  lady  descended  the  steps  to  welcome  their  younger 
son ;  who,  immediately  he  was  alone  with  his  father, 
began  to  flow  with  penitential  words. 

••  Ay,  Martm,  it  is  easy  to  repent  of  sins  when  wt 
intend  to  persevere  in  them,"  said  Sir  Thomas ;  yet 
in  a  kindly  fashion.  .      .       i  j 

"  I  do  repent  of  my  disobedience,  sir ;  but  I  could 
not  conquer  my  desires."  . 

"  It  is  also  easy  to  repent  when  we  have  obtamed  our 
desires.  But,  my  son,  I  desire  you  to  show  more  firm- 
ness, and  learn  to  rule  your  temper.  Should  you  mairy 
—as  I  think  is  likely— I  hope  you  will  choose  a  lady 
strong  enough  to  manage  you— ay,  and  it  is  my  earnest 
hope  she  whips  you  sometimes.  I  believe  David  has 
told  you  what  has  happened  in  your  absence.  There- 
fore I  shall  not  weary  you  by  repetition.  Let  me  say 
this— without  unkindness— I  am  glad  you  are  not  my 

elder  son."  ,  _^.     . 

"  I  know,  sir,  that  David  is  far  more  worthy  to 
succeed  you  than  I  am,"  said  Martin  humbly. 

"  That  is  the  best  thing  I  have  ever  heard  you  say. 
In  this  matter  of  your  possible  marriage,"  said  Sir 
Thomas,  with  a  slight  caressing  movement  of  his  hands, 
"  I  give  you  free  liberty  of  choice,  and  from  this 
moment  withdraw  my  former  prohibition.  Should  you 
have  the  fortune  to  win  a  young  lady  a  thousand  taaea 
too  good  for  you— and  you  may  by  chance  have  heard 
of  such  an  one— your  tour  abroad  shall  also  be  your 
honeymoon.  Your  mother  and  I  would  be  pleased  to 
accompany  a  newly  married  couple  to  our  home  m 
Italy.  And  now,  Martin,  you  may  step  into  the  gallery 
of  statues,  where  I  trust  you  may  find  a  figure  to  your 
liking.    Be  careful  not  to  upset  the  Cupid  at  the 

door  I"  .^      ^  ^^         ^, 

The  gallery  lay  upon  the  east  side  of  the  castle, 
where  it  grew  dark  early;   so  that  Martin,  upon 


ONLY  JOHN  CLABAR  IS  UNHAPPY       359 

opening  the  door,  was  not  surprised  to  see  a  glimmer 
of  candlelight  flickering  across  the  statues.  Somebody 
was  reading  or  moulding  at  the  further  end.  Martin 
beheld  the  Cupid  extending  towards  him  two  baby 
arms  of  welcome,  and  smiled  at  his  father's  conceit  in 
warning  him  ;  smiled  also  at  his  own  thoughts,  declar- 
ing David  to  be  the  best  fellow  in  the  world,  and  he 
himself  the  happiest ;  but  wondered  a  little — ^hardly 
daring  to  hope  for  the  best — when  he  could  not  dis- 
tinguish the  human  form  beyond  for  statues. 

"  The  Figure  of  Youth,"  he  murmured.  "  Yet  I 
know  that  shabby  suit  of  brown." 

Advancing  quietly,  he  had  a  full  view  of  the  young 
lady,  whom  he  regarded  as  Cherry,  still  in  her  boy's 
clothes,  standing  with  her  back  towards  him,  holding 
a  wax  candle  in  one  hand  and  a  portrait  in  the  other. 
Looking  round,  she  instantly  blew  out  the  candle  and 
hid  the  picture.    Yet  the  gallery  was  not  dark. 

"  Cherry  !  "  he  cried.    "  I  am  returned." 

"  No  wiser  than  you  went,"  she  said.  "  You  arc 
like  the  good  people  of  Moyle,  who  will  declare,  '  It  is 
fine,'  or '  It  is  wet,'  as  if  they  suppose  you  are  not  able 
to  discover  such  things  for  yourself." 

"  Are  you  not  pleased  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  now  stepped  among  such  a  company  of 
relations,  I  may  hardly  require  another." 

"  My  father  sent  for  me." 

"  Well,  I  did  not,  my  gone  yesterday  and  here  to-day 
young  gentleman.  Why  are  you  not  on  the  way  to 
France  ?  " 

"  I  am  free— the  barriers  are  down.  I  may  step 
across  into  your  territory.  Sir  Thomas  gives  his 
consent." 

"Pfermits  you  to  walk  in  my  garden  !  I'll  see  to  that. 
Begone,  trespasser !  " 

"  I  shall  not  go." 

"  Then  I  wiU  set  traps." 

"  If  I  am  caught,  you  must  come  to  take  me  out." 


MICUOCOfY   RESOIUTION   TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


I^j:        '^53  Eojt  Main  Street  '  ~ 

^S        (716)   288  -  5989  -  Fax 


36o 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


"  Not  1 1  There  you  shall  remain,  young  gentleman." 
"  What  was  that  picture  you  hid  away  ?  " 
"  This  young  man  is  tyrant,  father  confessor,  lord 
chief  justice,  lover,  and  I  know  not  what,"  she  said 
with  teasing  laughter.  "  He  must  know  all.  He  must 
get  into  my  mind,  and  pick  my  brain,  and  dissect  my 
heart ;  and  if  I  please  myself  with  the  smallest  idle 
fancy;.he  will  get  at  it.  Why  did  you  not  go  upon  the 
Continent  and  leave  us  all  at  peace  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Cherry,  I  must  know  all.  I  am  jealous  of 
every  thought  which  passes  through  your  mind  unless 
I  cause  it.  Cherry,  no  more  words.  Be  serious  now,  I 
beg.  You  know  I  love  you.   You  know  I  am  returned 

to  fall  at  your  feet " 

"  Yet  he  has  not  done  so." 

"  And  offer  you  my  life  and  fortune.     Cherry, 

answer ! 
"  A  dictator  now  !   Truly  the  lover  ascends  rapidly." 
"  Cherry,  you  may  tease  me  ever  afterwards." 
"  At  last  a  concession,  a  privilege  !    I'll  plague  you, 
Martin  !    If  that  is  all  you  want,  I'll  see  to  it.    I  per- 
ceive well  enough  there  can  be  no  peace  until  I  give 
you  my  hand,  and  hang  my  chains  upon  you,  and  lead 
you  about  as  my  dancing  bear.    Come,  Martin  !    Take 
me  before  I  run.    And  here's  my  hand.    I  am  ashamed 
of  the  brown,  but  the  coming  life  will  tend  to  whiten 
it." 
"  My  sweetheart,  you  love  me  !  " 
"  Yes,  Marcin,  I  am  yours.    And  now  there  need 
be  no  false  modesty  between  us,  I  will  show  you 
what  it  was  I  held  when  you  most  rudely  broke  upon 

me.  J 

She  drew  Martin  to  the  window,  and  there  produced 

a  miniature  oi  himself  which  Lady  Just  had  painted. 

Perhaps  the  mother  had  flattered  her  younger  son  a 

trifle. 
"  My  lady  gave  me  the  choice  between  two  pictures  ; 

and  I  took  yours.    Sir  Thomas  would  not  give  me  the 


ONLY  JOHN  CLABAR  IS  UNHAPPY       361 

choice  ;  so  I  made  the  selection  for  myself.  You  fought 
with  me,  Martin,  and  beat  me  ;  and  now  I  take  revenge, 
even  as  I  said  I  would,  by  bringing  you  to  my  feet.  I 
am  growing  weary  of  playing  the  strong  man ;  and 
indeed  my  strength  is  leaving  me.  So  from  this  hour 
I  abandon  boy's  clothes,  and  resign  myself  to  the 
protection  of  your  arm.  But  one  word  more,  young 
gentleman !  Would  you,  a  Just,  marry  a  Cornish 
yeoman's  daughter  ?  " 

"  With  the  greatest  happiness  in  the  world." 

"  Happiness !  That  is  the  word  I  wanted  you  to 
utter.  It  is  the  best  word  in  this  lovely  green  world. 
Well,  you  shall  have  your  yeoman's  daughter ;  and 
should  she  turn  out  to  be  a  princess  in  disguise  I  believe 
you  will  not  love  her  less." 

"  Come,  children !  "  called  my  lady  in  a  laughing 
voice  from  the  far  end  of  the  gallery.  "  Your  world 
is  not  entirely  uninhabited.   There  is  also  dinner !  " 

They  ran  to  her  with  the  lightness  of  birds,  and  the 
young  lady  was  hurried  away  to  make  the  first  great 
toilette  of  her  life.  But  in  the  meantime  there  was  no 
sign  of  Clabar.  Sir  Thomas  had  written  a  letter,  invit- 
ing him  to  Bezurrel  and,  knowing  him  to  be  a  plain 
man  who  might  have  been  greatly  disconcerted  at 
learning  the  truth  suddenly  amid  company,  he  had 
stated  plainly  that  the  young  lady  whom  he  loved  so 
well  was  not  his  daughter  ;  but  Sir  Thomas  neglected 
to  add  that  the  daughter  lived,  and  was  none  other 
than  Grambla's  former  kitchen  wench — ^to  whom  Clabar 
had  never  exhibited  any  mark  of  friendship — ^as  he 
desired  to  discover  that  great  secret  to  his  guest  in 
private  ;  Sir  Thomas  having  a  weakness  for  dramatic 
moments. 

Still  Clabar  did  not  arrive,  and  at  last  the  servant 
returned  with  a  letter  written  in  the  clerk's  neat  hand- 
writing. The  unhappy  man — for  so  he  styled  himself 
— thanked  Sir  Thomas  for  an  invitation  to  festivities 
which  he  himself  could  take  no  part  in ;  nor  did  he 


362 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


II 


it 


li 


forget  to  repeat  his  gratitude  «o/ tt^J.g^.^V^^J,^?' 
shown,  and  the  protection  afforded,  him  m  the  past 
But  it  appeared  th^t  the  baronet's  motive  was  not 
disinterested.   "  The  kindness  shown  to  me.   he  wrote 
"  was  but  the  reflection  of  your  love  for  the  perfect 
maid  whom  I  stiU  claim  as  my  daughter.    You  took 
charge  of  my  small  sum  of  money,  you  Provided  me 
with  a  home  for  which  you  would  take  no  rent,  you 
have  saved  me  from  the  enemy  of  my  family  ;  not  tor 
my  sake.  sir.  but  because  I  happened  to  possess  a 
peerless  daughter.    And  now  you  would  take  her  from 
me.  by  declaring  she  is  a  Just  and  your  mece.    You 
claim  her  as  your  own.    Sir.  ^vlll  you  consider  how 
impossible  this  must  sound  to  me  ?    You  leave  me 
des^ute  and  miserable.   You  would  restore  me  house 
and  land,  yet  take  away  all  that  makes  life  good.   Sur, 
I  cannot  sit  at  your  table,  for  I  am  no  longer  able  to 
regard  you  as  a  friend."  .    ,     ,  ,       l     „  +we 

"  Poor  John  I  I  am  sorry  indeed  he  shows  this 
spirit."  Sir  Thomas  murmured  as  he  closed  the  letter. 
"It  is  too  late  to  send  again.    In  the  morning  I  shall 

go  to  him  with  Cherry."  ,  „„r«j 

Then  he  hurried  away  to  the  drawmg-room  and  caLed 

his  sons.  When  they  had  joined  him  he  ordered  a 
servant  to  inform  my  lady  that  dinner  was  served. 

"  Watch  yonder  door,  my  sons.  We  have  prepared 
a  great  surprise  for  you."  he  said  in  his  most  gemal 
mSmer.  "  It  will  be  to  you,  David,  a  pleasure  merely  ; 
though  under  different  circumstances  it  would  have 
been  something  more.  To  you,  my  happy  Martm.  it 
must  come  like  a  shower  of  gold." 

"Iaskfornomorefortune.su:,    cned  Martin. 

"  Then  you  shall  receive  what  you  neither  ask  tor 
nor  deserve.    I  hear  the  ladies.    Your  eyes  upon  the 

door,  my  sons ! "  ,     ■•         1  j 

It  opened  as  he  spoke ;  and  there  stood  my  lady, 
beautiful  still  in  spite  of  the  grey  hair  trespassmg  among 
the  black ;  but  outshone  by  the  dazzhng  young  lady 


ONLY  JOHN  CLABAR  IS  UNHAPPY       363 

at  her  side,  with  her  golden  curls  and  glorious  com- 
plexion. She  was  dressed  in  white,  and  the  famous 
diamonds  flashed  upon  her  neck. 

"  Pray  do  not  speak,  Sir  Thomas,"  cried  my  lady. 
"This  is  my  part,  and  I  cln  i  the  right  to  piay  it. 
David  and  Martin  I  present  you  to  your  cousin, 
daughter  of  your  uncle  and  my  dearest  friend— Mistress 
Eli^beth  Virginia  Just." 

"Cherry  no  longer,"  whispered  the  happy  girl, 
running  to  Martin's  side.    "  Betty  to  you,  my  love  !  " 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  GREAT  FIRE  AND  WHAT  FOLLOWED 

No  sleep  soothed  Clabar  before  midnight,  and  after- 
warSft^came  with  little  kindness.mingled  with  waking 
7^des  which  appeared  to  walk  with  human  feet  about 
ircott^ge'  Atlast  a  stone  struck  the  window  ;  and 
a  harsh  voice  called :  .    -  , 

"  Mr  Clabar.  I  have  ?.  message  for  you.   bir.  i  nave 

='*T?^Sgff':r^ark-Lddry;    but  a  fine  breeze 
'""^m^^^Toa  ?  "Sed  Clabar.  whea  he  had  pushed 

'"""l^y'lKS?^  at  your  service.    I  ,.o»ld  have  you 
to  dress  and  walk  out  into  the  open. 

'•mat  is  your  meaning  ?  And  why  do  you  prowl 
round  my  cottage  at  this  hour  when  honest  folk  are 
abed  '    What  message  do  you  bnng,  looy  r 

"Why  sir.  I  woiSd  as  Uef  talk  with  you  as  with 
any  n^n  I  know  of."  replied  the  simpleton  "I  wou^d 
have  vou  know  Creature  answered  nie  w^  h  yea  this 
rireveSnT  In  the  morning  she  had  an  Arered  with 
mv  audit  is  my  belief  she  has  giown  so  weary  of 
answeri^  the  same  question,  she  will  now  take  me  to 

''"X^y^i'tr^^^  me  that  I  may  listen  to  your 

nonsense  ? "  ,  •   •>    t  o^  orwt  a 

"  Do  you  flatter  my  t  'od  sense,  sir  ?    I  am  got  a 

trifle  hard  of  hearing  since  I  took  to  work.    I  have 

bought  a  fishing-boat,  and  hope  soon  to  pay  for  it. 

364 


THE  GREAT  FIRE 


365 


Sir,  I  am  doing  good  and  living  honestly.  I  put  out 
my  net  yesterday  and  drew  to  shore  as  pretty  a  draught 
of  fishes,  both  small  and  great,  as  has  been  taken  since 
the  great  miracle.  I  believe  it  was  the  sig'-t  of  great 
and  little  fishes  that  led  Creature  to  ans^^er  me  with 
yea  ;  for,  sir,  she  is  a  wench  who  has  a  mighty  taste 
for  fishes  broiled." 

"  Get  you  home,  Toby.  Do  you  trespass  in  this 
fashion  again,  I  set  the  tithing-man  upon  your 
heels." 

"  One  word,  sir.  I  had  almost  forgot  my  errand. 
The  truth  of  the  matter  is— to  come  to  the  point  with- 
out delay,  sir— the  Castle  of  Bezurrel  is  afire  ;  and  you 
and  I  are  the  only  two  honest  gentlemen  in  Moyle  who 
be  not  present  at  the  burning.  Step  outside  and  you 
shall  see  the  sky  all  bloody  from  these  woods  to  Great 
Gwentor." 

Then  Clabar  cried  out  indeed  and,  seized  by  a 
sudden  suspicion,  he  demanded,  "  Why  do  you  come 

here  ?  " 

"When  I  discover  that  Bezurrel  is  afire,  I  think  it 
but  neighbourly  to  visit  your  pretty  cottage,  sir ;  lest 
that  might  also  be  afire.  And  if  it  was  afire  I,  sir, 
proposed  to  warn  you  ;  and  thus,  sir,  I  might  save 
your  life." 

"  Why,  Toby,  I  smell  burning  !  " 

"  'Tis  very  likely,  sir.  Now  you  will  perceive  I 
have  reasoned  this  matter  mighty  well ;  for,  to  speak 
in  the  direct  manner,  sir,  your  thatch  is  burning 
merrily." 

Before  Clabar  could  snatch  his  clothing  and  descend 
the  stairs,  Toby  had  departed  ;  and  a  few  minutes 
later  flames  were  raging  in  the  roof.  Huddling  on  his 
garments,  the  lonely  man  worked  his  hardest  to  drag 
the  few  pieces  of  furniture,  with  his  books  and  heir- 
looms, into  the  open ;  for  the  cottage  was  doomed, 
and  the  approach  to  the  bedrooms  was  akeady  closed. 
The  sky  was  now  awful,  and  it  seemed  to  Clabar  he 


366 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


could  hear  the  roaring  of  the  immense  bonfire  in 
Bezurrel  park,  which  was  to  provide  matter  for  Cornish 
folk  to  teU  of  a  hundred  years  afterwards. 

Indeed,  so  stupendous  was  the  spectacle  that  the 
homeless  man  gasped  when  he  reached  the  outer  garden, 
where  the  entire  population  of  Moyle  was  assembled  ; 
each  man — and  each  woman  too — ^having  worked 
nobly  to  snatch  a  little  from  the  mighty  wreck.  All 
faces  were  black  and  streaming  with  perspiration; 
while  all  eyes  stared  in  wonder  at  the  flaming 
castle. 

"  No  life  lost ;  even  the  horses  are  brought  from 
their  stables  and  the  dogs  from  their  kennels,"  said  the 
bustling  curate. 

"  Surely  the  devil  has  been  abroad  to-night ;  for 
my  cottage  has  also  been  consumed,"  replied  John 
Clabar. 

'*  Nay,  friend,  the  devil  can  but  supply  the  brimstone. 
He  leaves  it  to  mortal  hands  to  add  the  spark  and 
tinder,"  quoth  the  curate  wisely. 

"  Where  are  the  ladies  ?  "  asked  Clabar  ;  though  he 
had  but  one  face  before  him. 

"  Gone  into  the  town  to  take  shelter  at  the 
van. 

That  moment  the  crowd  surged  together,  for  it  was 
seen  Sir  Thomas  approached,  grimy,  half-dressed,  and 
wigless.  He  raised  himself  by  standing  on  a  gate,  and 
addressed  the  people,  his  figure  illuminated  by  the  great 
light  of  the  fire,  which  roared  so  terribly  that  he  was 
forced  to  shout  his  message  : 

"  Men  and  women  of  Moyle,  I  thank  you  for  the 
sympathy  expressed  to  me  and  to  my  family  by  your 
presence,  and  by  the  very  notable  assistance  you  have 
rendered.  Much  is  lost,  yet  nothing  of  the  highest 
value ;  for  not  the  meanest  servant  has  received  a  hurt ; 
and  all  that  yonder  flames  consume  may  be  replaced. 
The  castle  was  old,  and  to  my  mind  so  little  convenient 
that  I  had  thought  of  having  it  destroyed,  and  building 


THE  GREAT  FIRE 


367 


in  its  stead  a  Gothic  mansion  nearer  to  the  sea.  What 
I  have  contemplated  is  now  become  necessary  by  this 
fi-e  which,  I  believe,  was  caused  neither  by  accident 
n  iT  yet  by  Act  of  God." 

"  Sir  Thomas !  "  cried  the  busy  curate,  pressing 
fcrward.  "  Halcyon  Cottage  has  also  been  burnt  to 
the  ground.  You  may  for  yourself  behold  the  glow 
upon  the  woods." 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  information,"  replied  Sir 
Thomas.  "  My  good  people,  I  desire  you  now  to  go 
quietly  to  your  homes ;  but  first  I  shall  inform  you 
what  has  happened  this  night.  My  home,  and  Clabar's 
cottage  in  the  woodland,  have  been  fired,  and  are  now 
destroyed,  as  an  act  of  despairing  vengeance  by  the 
man  who  has  poisoned  the  life  of  Moyle  these  thirty 
years.  I  do  not  utter  his  name — I  perceive  you  know 
it  well — but  with  you  I  rejoice  that  he  will  not  be  seen 
again,  unless  he  is  brought  here  by  the  constables, 
^d  that  I  do  not  wish  to  happen ;  for  I  would 
have  no  parishioner  sentenced  to  the  gallows  on  my 
account." 

Sir  Thomas  descended  from  the  gate  and  made  his 
way  along  the  avenue  accompanied  by  both  his  sons  ; 
while  the  people  stayed  on  to  watch  the  burning — since 
it  was  too  late  for  bed  and  too  soon  to  work — many  of 
them  wagging  their  heads  over  the  failure  of  Si'"  Thomas 
to  subdue  the  flames,  and  venturing  to  regard  him  as 
no  very  great  enchanter  after  all. 

"  My  master  bade  me  search  for  you  among  the 
crowd,  and  to  tell  you  he  goes  to  Coinagehall  and 
desired  you  to  follow  him,"  said  one  of  the  grooms  ; 
and  Clabar,  compelled  by  his  homeless  state  to  be 
obedient,  went  in  that  direction,  walking  some  distance 
behind  the  three  figures  barely  visible  in  the  cold  mist 
of  an  autumnal  dawn. 

They  waited  for  him  beside  the  shrubbery,  where 
he  and  strong  Peter  had  hidden  from  his  own  daughter 
and  her  lover  when  they  had  masqueraded  as  his 


368 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


ancestors ;  and  Sir  Thomp  stepped  forwwd^^^^^ 
stretched  hand  to  say.  "Honest  John.  I  beg  you  w 
take  possession  of  your  father's  house.    W^  you  be 
pl^dto  invite  my  famUy  to  take  shelter  for  a  tune 

"^^tJZJ^l^U  sir.  I  can  refuse  you  nothing  ^ 
repUed  Claba. ;  adding  in  his  dogged  fashion,  though 
you  have  stole  my  daughter  from  me. 

••  I  take  what  is  mine  ;  and  shall  restore  what  is 
yours,"  said  Sir  Thomas  sharply. 
^  "  TTie  door  is  not  fastened,  sir."  caUed  David. 

"  Av  the  rascal  has  flown,  and  none  of  us  are  likely 
to  seTeyes  on  him  again.   John  Clabar.  lead  the  way- 

^"  rpray^you  enter,  gentlemen  ;   though,  to  speak 
plamly    I  feel  myself  a  stranger  here."  said  Clabar 

^^  Th/y  groped  their  way  into  the  hcuse  which  was 
sileni  as  it  had  been  in  days  gone  by  when  Cherry  under 
?he  name  of  Ruth  had  toUed  in  the  kitchen  with  the 
ciock  foi  her  companion.  They  entered  the  pnncipd 
room  •  threw  back  the  shutters  to  admit  the  glow 
from  Wzu^l  and  the  first  light  of  day ;  aiid  im- 
meSaSy  Sir  Thomas  perceived  two  documents  upon 
Srint?e  table.  He^irried  them  to  the  wmdow. 
whUe  the  others  gathered  round  him.    . 

-o,"  he  muttered.  "  Cou.agehaU  is  indeed  that 
ra  i's  property.  This  is  a  deed  of  sale,  signed  by 
your  father^  John,  conveying  the  whole  estate  to 

^'"My^ather's  hand!   This  is  indcd  no  forgery 
Yet  he  swore  to  me  a  hundrM  times  he  had  not 

'*^  H^w  his  signature  was  obtained  we  are  not  to 

^"  U  was  b"  fraud,  sir-my  father  was  a  si.nple  man. 
Now  I  shaU  .ake  it  upon  myself  to  destroy  this  parch- 
ment." 


THE  GREAT  FIRE 


369 


"  One  moment  I  Here  is  the  scoundrel's  will.  He 
bequeaths  the  house  and  property  of  Coinagehall  to 
Honey  the  barber-surgeon  and  Toby  Penrice  gentle- 
man, to  be  held  by  them  as  trustees,  ad  majorem  Dei 
gloriam — let  us  hoj>e  the  rascal  could  not  translate 
his  Latin — for  the  benefit  of  the  new  religion,  which 
he  has  the  kindness  to  wish  may  destroy  the  estab- 
lished Church  and  confound  the  last  papist  in  the  land. 
The  property  is  not  to  be  sold,  but  may  be  let  to  any 
decent  gentleman,  with  the  exception  of  Sir  Thomas 
Just  and  John  Clabar,  or  a<y  person  related  to  them 
in  any  way  whatsoever ;  lor  these,  states  t.  e  will, 
cannot  be  worthy.  The  furniture  and  all  fittings  are 
to  be  sold  by  public  auction." 

"  Destroy  that  paper,  sir,"  cried  Clabar. 

"  Nay,  we  must  do  aU  things  honestly.  Honey 
the  barber  and  Penrice  the  gentle.wan  will  know  of 
its  existence.  I  will  hand  to  them  this  document, 
and  invite  them  to  act  in  any  way  that  pleases 
them." 

"  Then,  sir,  I  lose  aU." 

"  We  may  not  prove  in  a  court  of  law  how  the  deed 
fiom  your  father  was  got  by  cunning  ;  therefore  take 
this  parchment,  John,  and  do  with  it  as  you  will. 
Its  destruction  must  lie  upon  your  conscience.  As  for 
the  furniture  and  fittings  of  this  house,  they  are 
m  ae.  Grambla  indeed  bought  them,  but  I  have  paid 
jr  all." 

"Sir,"   mutt* 
astonishment    if 
wizard." 

"  I  shall  prr 
Thomas  contin 
for  indeed  this  . 
must  have  evideii, 


Clabar,  "I 
did    not 


should  feel 
know    you 


greater 
are    a 


3  witness  in  proof  of  this,"  ?' ' 
Yet  no  witness  will  be  ncedeu ; 
worthless.  In  the  first  olace  we 
of  Grambla's  death,  and  that  may 
not  easily  be  obta  med ;  for  owing  to  his  deed  this 
night  he  has  bec^  m  outlaw.  Glance  at  this  parch- 
ment and  out  of  you    '■egal  knowledge  inform  me  why 

7B 


ii ' 


370  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

it  is  no  lawvcr  is  able  to  complete  his  own  wiU  ;  though 
he  may  K.lJreat  sldU  in>paring  the  testaments 

of  his  clients."  .     ^.  .^  „ 

"  I  OCT  ceive,  sir,  there  are  no  signatures. 

••  Soaritated  was  the  mind  of  the  man.  so  set  was  he 
upon  some  act  of  vengeance.  so.,determmed  was  he  to 
oStwit  us  aU,  that  memor'  failed,  and  he  ^rgpt  to 
sign  his  will  or  to  call  his  witnesses.  I  now  congratu- 
late  you.  Squire  Clabar,  upon  complete  possession  of 

^M^t^SV^u^saldthed^        "But.sir.lcanno* 
occupy  this  house  without  my  daughter. 

••  You  shaU  have  your  daughter.  I  swear,     sa 
Sir  Thorn-,  with  a  laugh.    "Come,  my  sons,  let  us 
to  breakfast  at  the  inn.    Will  you  accompany  us. 

^•Tshall  remain.    Now  that  I  have  set  ?oot  in  my 
own  house.  I  am  not  to  hi  drawn  out  of  it,    repUed 

^^v  midday  Bezurrel  Castle  lay  in  ruins,  and  a  heap 
of  smSiT^riiig  ashes  marked. the  site  of  Hdcyon; 
whUe  neither  man  nor  woman  in  aU  Moyle  toded  that 
Say  save  with  their  tongues.  A  full  flood  of  hfe  surged 
into  Coinagehall.  overflowmg  ever  -  cbam  ^^.f^ 
stables  and  outbuildings,  crowding  e  loft  where  Cay 
had  slept.  The  old  house  fo  md  itt  --  ahve  again  and 
laughed.  Nobody  had  gain^'d  except  one  man;  au 
hTd  lost  much  except  that .  .e.  Yet  he  alone  walked 
heavUy  because  hl^  a  vughter  ^vas  now  a  fine  lady  and 
did  not  speak  with  mm.  , 

The  trSe  daughter  of  the  house  was  thu^  f^ 
more  about  lover  than  father,  whom  she  tod  not 
approached,  partly  out  of  neryousness^hiefly  becau^ 
ii^the  general  bustle  opportumty  haa  l^>^  lacking.  It 
was  a  grievance  that  Harry  m  ght  be  waltang  betand 
the  plolgh  ;  for  although  she  liked  to  thmk  of  Imn  at 
honSt  work,  it  was  a  pain  to  know  he  was  not  walking 
at  her  side.    So  she  approached  her  busy  patron  and 


THE  GREAT  FIRL 


371 


implored  him  to  send  a  messenger  infonaing  Harry  he 
might  now  proceed  to  Moyle. 

''  Come  with  me."  he  answered  ;  and  led  her  towards 
Eli7r4beth,  who  talked  with  Mother  Gothal. 

V^our .,  ladies,  make  your  peace.  Then  go  to  the 
master  ::a  reveal  yourselves,''^ he  ordred. 
^  "  I  ha' to!d  Squire,"  said  Mother  Gothal.  "Hound 
en  walking  in  the  garden,  more  like  a  gentleman  what 
had  lost  a  fortune  than  one  who  has  got  back  his  home. 
I  told  'en  how  Master  Grambla  changed  the  babes,  and 
how  Miss  Cherry  is  your  niece,  and  Rutn  is  Miss  Cherry, 
and  how  there  wam't  no  Ruth  at  all ;  and  I  got  so 
mixed  up  wi'  all  the  names  that  I  made  a  proper  tale 
of  it. 

"  How  does  he  take  it  ?  " 

"  Swears,  your  honour.  CaUs  me  a  liar,  and  says 
if  tis  true  he  don't  believe  it,  and  there  must  be 
witchery  in  it." 

"  Go  to  him,  young  lady,  and  do  your  best  to  make 
him  hapw.  The  poor  gentleman  has  suffered  much," 
said  Sir  Thomas  as  he  left  them. 

"  So  I  must  call  you  Cherry,"  said  Elizabeth,  taking 
the  dark  girl's  hands.  "  That  name  makes  you  t  ly 
sister.  I  am  sorry,  dear  girl,  I  was  rough  with  you 
when  you  tended  my  mother's  grave.  But  neither  of 
us  knew ! " 

"  I  am  so  jealous  of  your  diamonds  I  " 

"^  A  father  is  better." 

"He  is  a  stranger— and  I  had  great  love  for  the 
diamonds." 

"  'Tis  an  ungrateful  heart  you  have,  young  lady  " 
cried  Mother  Gothal.  "  I  kept  the  necklace  for  yeaii, 
but  I  never  got  to  love  it." 

"  I  am  not  ungrateful,  Mother  Gothal ;  but  yesterday 
I  was  a  fortune,  and  to-day  I  have  nothing— and  poor 
Harry  will  be  disappointed  !  And  he  is  twenty  miles 
awav—and  Sir  Thomas  will  not  promise  me  to  send  a 
me^  enger." 


372 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


^■i^^ten'  I  wiU  forget  the  diamonds,"  said  Miss 

'•^^y  ,.ent  through  the  Sfen  and^^fl^rsl?;^ 
Srf  i^Sth^S"a»*^  ^S-^anio  J  to 

meet  him.  . ,    «  yet  always  a  second 

"  ^^^^^^^"ilT'l  kowtow  good  and  gentle  you 
father  in  my  love,    ^^^^^j^^^^^^^      you  copied  for 

have  been:  ^  J^^^^^^^J^^^^SeS  you  will  now 
me.     That  kindness  and  tenderness  yo  ^^^^^ 

bestow  upon  your  \^^*^,^^^^^^^^^ 

you>yiUingly  ;  I  wojUdn^^^^^^  niefe  of  Sir 

remamed.    ^^y\^  J^^  ^.aid  waiting  is  in  truth 

^orChJrry^'Jm"^^^^^^ 

what  I  have  no  right  to  claim.  „  ^^^^^ 

JtUrtt^t^lhat  ^SrKJ  this  young 
•^?.Vh?Slo^^ot=|  i.  ^^  t^e  Cherry 

JeTli^ihTAf  r-go^»-^d    the  other  hUcU. 
^?lto^'^o*^1^at*^«S^"had  been  lost," 

Gothal.  hurrying  forward    v  J*  omJhomJto  Coinage- 
Snio?  .^"nd^m^  Mother  Gothal.    You  have  ended 


THE  GREAT  FIRE 


373 


the  storm  of  long  ago  and  solved  the  riddle  of  the 
shipwreck." 

Then  she  took  the  black  Cherry  by  the  hand,  and  led 
her  to  Clabar,  saymg,  "  Be  as  kmd  to  her  as  you  have 
been  to  me ;  then,  when  I  come  to  Moyle,  and  am 
alone  with  you,  I  whisper  to  you,  '  father.' " 

"  So,  child,"  said  the  moody  Clabar,  "  I  am  now  to 
discover  in  you  a  likeness  to  your  mother ;  but  in  faith 
I  cannot.  You  are  dark,  and  so  was  she ;  you  are  small, 
and  so  was  she.    But  there  ends  the  resemblance." 

"  La,  Squire,  I  can  see  the  Ukeness  plainly,"  declared 
Mother  Gothal. 

"I  believe  you  have  deceived  me,"  cried  Clabar 
sharply.  "  I  believe  you  are  no  better  than  a 
wicked  old  woman.  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  of 
this  ?  " 

"  A  witch  must  needs  be  artful,"  said  cunning  Mother 
Gothal. 

"  Well,  child,  it  appears  you  are  indeed  my  daughter ; 
and  many  must  have  thought  me  mad  that  I  should 
claim  relationship  with  this  young  lady,"  continued 
Clabar.  "  I  shall  learn  to  love  you,  and  if  the  name 
of  Cherry  does  not  come  easily  to  my  tongue  I  must 
ask  you  to  be  patient." 

"  For  my  part,  sir,  I  shall  promise  to  love  you,  when 
you  have  given  me  permission  to  wed  my  Harry ;  who, 
I  do  assure  you,  sir,  is  the  best  man  in  the  world,"  the 
girl  answered. 

"  That  will  come — ^like  all  else.  Nay,  you  shall  not 
force  me.  The  world  is  new  to-day,  and  it  seems  to  me 
full  of  crosses.  I  will  take  a  turn  through  the  fields 
to  set  my  mind  at  ease." 

He  kissed  the  maid  quickly,  bowed  to  Elizabeth  in 
a  lingering  fashion,  frowned  upon  Mother  Gothal ; 
then  went  away  into  the  fields  with  his  eyes  upon  the 
grass. 

True  to  her  promise,  Elizabeth  rode  with  Martin  to 
the  farm  where  Cay  was  apprenticed  to  agriculture, 

2B3 


I 


374  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

J^tetaoWto  Sby  any  other  name  than  Ruth 
llf^Uch te  1^  though^GrlbU hadbestgS^^^^ 
and  the  two  were  not  quicWy  seen  again.  Etobetft. 
tS^a^rtdustv  entered  the  house  ;  and,  finding  Snr 
^mS  an^my  lady,  had  just  begun  to  teU  how  m 
Se  CrT^hey  tad  covered  forty  miles,  when  a  sei^nt 
ta™uSwSer  Jimmy  Twitcher  might  speak  for  a 

"■^iTt  toMe'^'^tpM  Sir  Thomas ;  and  imme- 
diat^a^nSSmtleSianstrutted  into  the  room  and 

'^S:':^%i  1   Wh»t  is  your  desire  ?  "  asked 

^'^'?am*'come,  your  honour,  to  ask  permission  to 
depit     I  SvJ  you  will  not  require  my  services 

*^^t  is  very  true,  Jimmy.    I  fear  you  are  grown 

*'"V^'S*7ei^!'sir,  that  I  am  more  at  home  in 

rS^ Tfor  tKS;  of  the  street,  the  coffee-ho^ 
fheTa^  of  pleasure.  I  would  notexchange  Drury 
Une,  sir,  for  the  whole  of  Cornwall.  ,_ 

to  MOTC  tt     I  have  a  taU  and  stately  wench  awaitmg 

"F^'t?rri^^^rrhSr?ocr?rs 

Stewisl.    So  with  your  permission  I  shall  depart  lor 
"^r^TZlo.  J»n>y.    My  steward  shall  setUe 

'"■^Aumbty'J^k  you,  sir.    Will  it  please  your 
honour  "SS  I  entertl  the  company  after  dmner 


THE  GREAT  FIRE 


375 


with  a  few  songs,  sir,  and  some  playing  in  bur- 
lesque ?  " 

"  You  may  certainly  do  so,"  replied  Sir  Thomas ; 
and  the  dwarf,  having  bowed  again,  departed. 

"  I  saw  this  strange  fellow  at  Bezurrel,"  said  Eliza- 
beth. "  But  when  I  asked  questions  about  him  you 
threatened  to  pull  my  ears." 

"  Jimmy  Twitcher  is  a  very  noted  little  comedian," 
said  Sir  Thomas.  "  Seeing  him  one  night  at  the  theatre, 
during  a  visit  to  London,  I  was  so  much  taken  with 
the  admirable  way  he  played  a  ghost  that  I  brought 
him  to  Moyle  that  he  might  play  the  same  part 
here." 

"  My  dear  uncle  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  lady. 

"  Ay,  sweet  niece,  Jimmy  Twitcher  played  Red  Cap 
before  Grambla,  repeating  the  words  I  had  taught  him. 
There  is  yet  more  you  shall  know,  though  I  desire  you 
not  to  repeat  this  story.  I  caused  a  sum  of  money  to 
be  hidden  in  a  certain  spot  upon  the  summit  of  Great 
Gwentor ;  and  it  was  the  business  of  my  Uttle  comedian 
to  lead  Grambla  to  that  place." 

"  Why  did  you  reward  him  ?  " 

"  To  ruin  such  a  rogue  you  shall  find  no  surer  way 
than  to  provide  him  with  money.  Owing  to  my  action 
he  was  able  to  mix  with  his  superiors  ;  and,  as  I  had 
foreseen,  he  then  became  too  proud  to  own  for  his  friends 
the  folk  of  Moyle.  The  new  friends  despised,  while  the 
former  friends  grew  to  hate,  the  upstart.  I  perceived 
also  that,  with  money  in  hand,  he  would  live  well, 
become  idle,  fall  into  indifference  ;  and  in  sluggishness 
of  mind  he  was  less  likely  to  act  with  malevolence 
against  Clabars  and  myself." 

"  There  was  no  witchcraft,  Betty,"  cried  my  lady. 

"  That  is  a  name  by  which  we  frighten  and  subdue 
the  superstitious,"  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  The  learned 
rule  by  it ;  some  of  the  vulgar  live  by  it.  But  the  thing 
itself  has  no  existence.  Do  not  suppose,  dear  child, 
that  the  Almighty  allows  the  laws  of  nature  to  be 


37b  MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 

Mother  Gothal  was  my  accomplice  in  this  matter,  ^d 
without  her  aid  I  could  not  have  succeeded.  Say 
wS  ^ttv  Let  the  people  of  Moyle  repeat  their 
^SoftlS'sti^  of  R^d'cap.  until  it  beco^a 
TOrtion  of  their  folk-lore.  Let  them  beheye  I  ra^d 
K^  by  enchantments.  It  will  be  an  m  day  when 
?hf  ^gar  discover  that  the  gentry  do  not  possess  the 

P^^I^f  wlr^erT^^rElizabeth.  "  that  the  truth 

^'?tif  Sl^jf  my  love/'  said  Lady  Just,  as  she  led  the 
girl  away.  "  you  are  somewhat  m  advance  of  the  age 

^l^wts^a' merry  scene  in  Comagehall  that  night. 
Timmy  Twitcher  entertamed  the  company  withjm- 
c^on  brilliance ;  but  then  he  was  gomg  home  to  be 
mSied  aSd^  knowledge  made  him  clever  at  h^ 
St^Cheny  and  Cay  sat  in  a  comer,  holdmg  each 
^er's  W  in  simple  fashion,  although  neither  felt  m 
?hemoc^?o  runaway,  ^labar  etched  the  1^^^^^^^ 
»  frnwn— which  was  apt  to  relax  when  he  glancea  at 
xSer-w^drrSg  how  his  son-m-law  would  manage 
5r  fm^^-ne^^ted  farm,  and  gradually  discovenng 
S^'aulL'm  his  daughter     Elizabeth  and  l^m^^^^ 
radiant,   and  hard  by  David  beheld  them  vn^  a 
Stisfied  expression.    Agamst  the  walls  stood  ^rr^ts 
rocS  with  riotous  laughter.    Even  Father  Benedict 
SoSfin  to  smile  at  folly  whUe  he  tapped  his  snuff- 
^x  •   for  the  famUy.  he  knew,  prop^d  to  return 
Portly  to  fair  Italy ;   and  as  Father  Benedict  could 
not  marry,  by  tJ  the  next  best  thmg  was  gomg 

^°But  a  great  commotion  arose  outside,  as  though  thc- 
dayfof  hating  were  not  over.  J^e  outer  door  wa^ 
opLed.  and  Toby  Penrice  fought  his  way  through 
?te  Svants  and^ppearsd  in  the  presence  of  the 
company. 


THE  GREAT  FIRE 


377 


"  Sir  Thomas,  I  have  been  cheated.  I  have  lost  my 
fortune,  and  now  I  have  lost  my  hundred  guineas — 
and  to-morrow  I'll  lose  my  Creature  for  ever  and  a 
day." 

*•  Turn  this  rude  fellow  out,"  cried  Lady  Just. 

"  One  moment,  Manuela,"  said  her  husband.  "  Ex- 
plain your  words,  Toby.  How  have  you  been 
cheated  ?  " 

"  Master  Grambla,  sir,  was  trustee  of  my  fortune, 
and  he  went  and  sunk  it  in  the  sea.  He  used  me  Uke  a 
dog,  sir.  He  kicked  me  out  of  this  house.  Then  he  says 
to  me,  '  I'll  give  ye  money,  if  ye  bum  down  Halcyon 
Cottage,'  but  I  wouldn't  do  it,  sir.  I'm  an  honest 
man,  I  told  Master  Grambla,  and  a  decent  reputrtion 
is  worth  more  than  money.  Last  evening  he  comes  to 
me  again  and  says,  '  Bum  Halcyon  to-night,  and  I'U 
I»y  you  a  hundred  guineas  in  the  morning.'  And  he 
gives  me  writing,  sir.  And,  sir,  I  have  it  here.  So  I 
go  to  Creature  and  ask,  *  For  the  last  time  will  ye  have 
me  ? '  And  she  answers,  '  For  the  last  time,  nay.' 
Then  I  say,  '  If  I  put  a  hundred  guineas  in  your  lap 
to-morrow,  will  ye  have  me  ?'  And  she  answers, '  yea.' 
So  I  go  off  and  do  my  duty.  I  set  alight  to  Halcyon 
Cottage.  Then  I  have  the  politeness  to  warn  Master 
Clabar,  who  has  always  been  a  friend  of  mine " 

"  Stay,  blockhead  !  "  Sir  Thomas  interrupted.  "  Can 
you  not  understand  you  are  confessing  to  a  crime 
which  may  send  you  to  the  gallows  ?  " 

"  Stars  of  heaven !  I  never  thought  of  that," 
mumbled  Toby,  coming  to  his  senses  and  scratching  his 
foolish  head.  "  If  I  have  done  wrong,  sir,  I  apologise 
most  humbly.  I  have  a  great  respect  for  you,  sir.  But 
a  hundred  guineas,  sir  !  " 

"  What  more  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  all  day,  sir,  hunting  for  Mastei 
Grambla  to  make  him  pay  the  money  what  he  owes 
me.  'Twas  getting  dark,  sir,  as  I  came  over  Great 
Gwentor ;  and  there  I  found  him,  sir.  Master  Grambl«> 


,-\ 


378 


MOYLE  CHURCH-TOWN 


was  lying  upon  a  great  flat  stone — ^upon  his  back,  sir— 
and  he  had  a  spade  in  his  hand,  sir ;  and  I  thought  he 
had  been  diggmg  and  was  now  asleep.  I  stood,  sir, 
and  called  him  names,  which  I  would  not  wish  to 
repeat  before  your  ladies,  unless,  sir,  they  particularly 
desire  me  to  do  so ;  but  Master  Grambla  wouldn't 
wake  up,  sir,  and  he  wouldn't  answer,  sir.  And  I 
knew  if  Master  Grambla  couldn't  answer  insults,  sir, 
he  must  be  mighty  sick.  So  I  went  up  and  touched 
him  with  my  shoe,  and  he  was  stiff,  sir.  And  I 
touched  him  with  my  hand,  and  he  was  cold,  sir. 
And  he  grinned  horrid,  sir." 
"  Dead  I  "  Sir  Thomas  muttered. 
"  I  believe,  sir.  Master  Grambla  had  eaten  food 
what  don't  agree  with  folks.  His  eyes  were  like  coals 
of  fire,  sir.  And  he  was  wet,  sir,  with  the  dews  of 
heaven." 

"  Let  the  simple  fellow  go,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  as  the 
ser\'ants  advanced  to  lay  hands  on  Toby.  "  And, 
Twitcher,  no  more  merriment.  Seek  to  gain  a  little 
knowledge,  fool,  and  bum  no  more  houses ;  for  you 
are  not  likely  to  receive  a  second  pardon.  Put  out  the 
canoes  1  Our  diversion  is  over." 

Jacob  Grambla  was  buried  at  the  break  of  day 
beneath  the  flat  stone  upon  which  the  body  was  dis- 
covered; but  at  a  later  date  parishioners  of  Moyle 
church-town  agreed  he  had  been  snatched  away  from 
earth  during  the  burning  of  Bezurrel  Castle  ;  for  many 
of  those  present  declared  they  had  seen  the  meagre 
figure  of  the  attorney  floating  in  the  midst  of  the  flames, 
ascending  from  the  falling  walls,  and  finally  disa^  oar- 
ing '"^  the  tempestuous  smoke  above. 

Yet  in  a  curious  manner  the  provisions  of  his  un- 
signed will  became  carried  into  effect.  Cherry  Cay  and 
her  husband  were  both  earnest  nonconformists  ;  indeied 
the  former  robber  became  noted  as  a  preacher ;  and 
Clabar  in  his  old  age  yielded  to  them,  deserted  the 
church,  and  emlnraced  the  new  religion  with  a  convert's 


11 


THE  GREAT  FIRE  379 

zeal.  So  that  Coinagehall  during  the  four  Georges  won 
great  fame  as  a  temple  of  nonconformity.  And  a 
meetmg- place  of  Methodists  stands  upon  its  site 
to-day. 

Not  far  away  are  mounds  of  grass  which  conceal  the 
old  foundations  of  Bezurrel ;  lor  the  castle  never  was 
rebuilt.  Yet  some  memories  of  the  Justs  survive  • 
especially  of  the  lady  of  that  house,  who  attained  the 
great  age  of  nmety-six,  and  was  happy  even  to  the  dav 
of  her  death.  ^ 


THE  END 


t'\ 


rMNTSO  IN  OKKAI  BaiTAIN   BV 
WM.   aUMDOM    AMD    ION,    LTB. 

rivMOuni 


